A Touch Of Destiny
by Amymimi
Summary: Sequel to Beckett’s Debt. Captain Sparrow chooses the Black Pearl’s next destination. However, there are two aboard the ship who had hoped never to return there, each for his own reasons… Post AWE. Beckabeth. Sequel now posted March 21, 2008!
1. Snowglobe

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to copyrighted characters of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.

Author Note: If you're stumbling upon this story, take note that this is a sequel to a previously written story of mine, "Beckett's Debt." There are many aspects of this story which happen or are mentioned in the last story, and so, reading "Beckett's Debt" will help you to understand what happened beforehand. If you click on my pen name you can easily access my previous story, because it's certainly well-buried in the POTC fanfiction archives now. I'm going to mention this sequel in a new chapter I'll post to it, so it will move up a couple of pages for a day or so, and I will be able to inform people who have story alert but not author alert of the sequel. Well, thanks, everyone! And enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 1: Snowglobe

Warnings: none

* * *

"I think we made a dire mistake," Jack Sparrow grumbled, his breath forming a cloud of steam in the freezing air.

Elizabeth Turner sat across from the dreadlocked pirate captain at a table in his cabin, holding her frost-bitten hands under her armpits for what little warmth they could provide. Propriety had long since been discarded.

"We didn't have to choose Greenland as a safe haven to plan our next strategy," she told the captain, watching the icicles in his goatee rattle against the frosty beads. The _Black Pearl _had reached the ice-covered eastern shore of Greenland, very close to the north pole. It was merely a vast wasteland where no civilization dared exist. In other words, a perfect hiding place.

"It's not that, luv," the captain said, shaking his head, his teeth chattering all the while. "I think we should not have been so brave an' foolish to boot as to rescue Beckett from his execution. Wot did we gain from that anyway, save for an armada of Royal Navy fresh on our backs an' a month-an'-a-half-long journey to a godforsaken wasteland?"

"Well, Beckett was the one to tell us that this part of Greenland would be a safe place to lay low for a while."

"Of that he was most certainly correct!" Jack exclaimed. "No one else is bloody stupid enough to follow us here!"

She flashed him a look of annoyance. They had all been cramped aboard the Pearl now for over two months. Upon arrival, they had not even made an attempt at disembarking to explore the land. It was just too cold.

"So have you thought of a plan for how we are going to avoid being killed by both the East India Trading Company and the Royal Navy? We've been here for almost a month."

"It's a wonder we are survivin'." He pointed his finger. "Actually, strike that. It's a _miracle_ we're survivin'. Found only one crate o' food remains. I've been bringin' food up to th' crew from th' hold so they aren't aware o' that depressin' fact yet."

Barbossa stormed through the cabin's unlocked door, Jack the monkey cuddled up inside the neck of his coat, probably to supply Barbossa extra warmth at his throat. He slammed the door angrily behind him.

"I hope ye two been talkin' about when we be departin', 'cause if we're not leavin' by tomorrow at sundown, yer gonna be takin' a swim, Jack."

Barbossa's nose was as red as a tomato, and he had let his facial hair grow to a scraggly longer length. Little stray hairs were scattered all over his cheeks, each hair covered by a thin coating of ice. His face resembled that of an unkempt hedgehog.

Jack stood, keeping his hands tucked into his waistcoat, tri-cornered hat pulled tightly onto his head to keep as much heat as possible from escaping.

"I'm well-aware that th' crew is not happy. I myself am disgusted. However, we need to figure out another place to acquire some allies, meanwhile avoidin' our two pursuin' groups, as it were."

"Yer not gonna have a crew soon to carry out yer plans," Barbossa said matter-of-factly.

Jack looked affronted.

"Wot are you goin' to do? Mutiny on me again? That'll have to be over my dead body!"

"Bein' as I also be a cap'n of the ship, there be no need. 'Sides, the crew be gettin' restless enough on their own to do so's themselves. If'n they don't freeze to death firs'."

"You should have spoken up, then, when it came time to decide where to lay low for awhile. I recall quite clearly that you did not have an opinion on th' subject at hand."

"That decision was made without my bein' informed first, e'en though I've jus' as much right to take part in such a decision as ye do. Rather hard to have an opinion on a choice I wasn't e'en takin' part in!"

"You should have been more involved then!"

"All I can say is whate'er becomes of this foolish choice ye made is yer fault alone, an' I'm not goin' to be helpin' ye when ye have to face the consequences."

"This was _not_ my—"

Elizabeth kicked him swiftly beneath the table, causing him to stop mid-sentence, flashing her a look of pain. She narrowed her eyes at him in response.

"—my intention, to cause such feelin's amongst th' crew," Jack stammered.

Elizabeth looked satisfied.

"Then what d'ye propose we do?" Barbossa asked.

"Why not go somewhere else?" was Jack's reply.

"We have allies in Singapore; we could lay low there fer awhile," the tall captain offered.

Elizabeth felt her stomach squirming. There were at least half a dozen Singaporeans who would not be happy to see her again.

Jack responded to Barbossa's idea.

"I think that place will be teemin' wiv Company employees an' Royal Navy alike, bein' as they also know this fact. Also, that's quite a distance away."

"How 'bout the Canary Islands then."

"Where are they?" Jack questioned, scratching his head.

"Don' ye have a map o' some sorts?"

"I don't recall such a place existin'."

"Well, I can assure ye that they're there—"

"Any place _I_ would be aware of?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes, looking exasperated.

"Well, as I be pirate lord o' the Caspian Sea, we could always go—"

"Too far," Jack interrupted.

Barbossa sneered at the younger captain.

"What be yer ideas then, Sparrow?"

"How about…." There was an excruciatingly long pause, as Jack pondered the ship's next possible destination.

"How be it that ye made the decision to come to this godfersaken place so quickly, I wonder," Barbossa asked, suspicion in his eyes.

Jack received another kick from Elizabeth. Though not as forceful as the first one, the new bruise he'd be getting on his shin did smart quite a bit in its earliest moments.

"I mus' have gone insane… temporarily," he responded, looking at Elizabeth the entire time he spoke.

"Only wish I could've been there to put ye out o' yer misery then," Barbossa said with a sinister smile.

_Barbossa would have killed Beckett outright had he known it was actually Beckett's idea to come here_, Elizabeth mused, watching the encounter._ He's blaming Jack for our misfortune, but at least Jack has established allies on this ship that will prevent any rash action. Beckett, on the other hand…._

* * *

The main body of the crew was assembled in the forecastle, nibbling idly on saltpork and trying to peel the now-frozen produce with their stiff frostbitten fingers. On deck, the _Pearl_'s sails were suffering from this unfortunate journey as well, the mainsail slowly becoming thinner and thinner as pieces were sliced off day after day by the crew and used as rather coarse, uncomfortable blankets. Not one crewmember dared venture on deck otherwise, for the bitter winds that blew along the length of the ship every couple of minutes was enough to severely limit even the ability to breathe, let alone move to avoid the wind.

Cutler Beckett sat in the corner of the forecastle closest to the door, back facing the remainder of the crew, wrapped in the material of two hammocks. He had come to the realization that his fingers had swollen to the point where he could not remove the sole piece of jewelry he possessed, a large solid gold ring he kept on the ring finger of his left hand signifying his acquisition of the rank of lord of the East India Trading Company.

_Fortunately for me, the guards didn't notice the ring during my trial and subsequent sentencing. This is the only piece of my old life that I have left. _

After Jack, Elizabeth, and he had returned to the _Black Pearl_ after the intervention to his execution, he, now able to traverse the ship freely, soon discovered his frockcoat and waistcoat balled up under a cannon on the quarterdeck. Thankfully he was able to use them to keep warm in this frigid cold. His tiny pistol was notably missing from the pocket of his frockcoat, but he realized that it could not have been functional, having been immersed in water after the explosion of the _Endeavour_. The gunpowder had probably formed a solid ball in the barrel at this point. _Ha_, he mused, touching the empty pocket where it had always been. _It's unlikely it even stayed in my pocket during that explosion… It's probably lying on the bottom of the ocean amidst the wreckage of the _Endeavour The pistol had been another gift to him upon attaining the rank of Lord, but was long-gone now. He had to cherish the ring as the only reminder, the only real evidence of his past existence.

Pintel had been glaring over at the quiet new member of the crew, a man a couple of months ago they had not hesitated to kill – err, try to kill – and now he was aboard their ship, walking amongst them, using their supplies and food, drink, and hammocks. His splendid frockcoat and waistcoat, though the velvet was destroyed by water, made the crew uneasy. Even though Pintel was already wrapped in two hammocks of his own, he stood up with a grunt and walked over to Beckett, grabbing the netted material of the hammocks from Beckett's back and jerking it upwards, so that they were yanked right out of the former lord's hands.

Beckett turned his head to look up at the offender, and seeing that it was Pintel, who had previously been his assaulter, stood up, affronted. Immediately the crew that had been so focused on each of their minute tasks or thoughts looked on at the impending fight.

Both men faced each other, each emitting a cloud of steam through their nostrils. However, neither man could remain breathing with their mouths closed, for their nose hairs were frozen. Each opened his mouth slightly, allowing the steam to escape there, neither uttering a word.

Ragetti stood up, moving beside Pintel, but without any anger in his expression.

"Pintel," he said to his crewmate, tapping the shorter man on the shoulder. "I think it's a better idea for us all to huddle together to keep warm. You're goin' to expend too much energy fightin'."

The short bald man looked at Ragetti. "If I kill him, I can keep much warmer after I slice 'im open an' hold my hands over the heat o' his steamin' guts."

Beckett looked mildly disgusted.

"Do you realize how absolutely barbaric you sound?" he questioned, tucking his hands into his coat.

"Barbaric or no, I know wot'll keep me warm," Pintel replied.

"That's something a mongrel _dog_ would do to keep warm. I would have thought you would possess more intelligence than some mangy cur, but I was mistaken."

Pintel lunged forward, impeded only by Ragetti grabbing onto the hammocks that were now slung around his upper body.

"Lemme attim," Pintel demanded, flashing his one-eyed crewmate an angry glare.

"Surely we can think of a better way to resolve this than fightin'," Ragetti calmly stated, not releasing Pintel's hammocks. "We have those spare oars; why not start a fire?"

"Are you serious," Beckett said disbelievingly, turning his attention to Ragetti. "In case you haven't noticed, we are on a _wooden_ ship. The only thing a fire would be good for is to kill everyone aboard."

Ragetti looked disheartened, his eye becoming downcast. "I's jus' sayin'. Fires is right warm."

* * *

The cold had definitely called for desperate measures. A gallon jar, previously Jack's jar of dirt, was set up with some shards of kindling from an oar and pieces of paper stuffed inside it, in the center of the forecastle. A bottle sat nearby, filled to the brim, in case the fire needed to be extinguished. However, the problem at the forefront was igniting the materials in the gallon jar to start a fire.

The crew sat cross-legged around the gallon jar as if performing some sort of religious ritual. Ragetti hunkered down by the jar, striking the match against any type of coarse material he could find. During this time he blew on the kindling with hot breath to try to keep the small pieces of wood within from freezing. However, his efforts were for naught.

"Give me that," Beckett said disdainfully, moving towards the jar from where he had been sitting in the circle. He snatched the match from Ragetti and began repeating the same motions to initiate some sort of friction that would light the match.

Murtogg and Mullroy had a piece of the _Pearl_'s sail draped between the two of them, their hands balled up in the fabric.

"Can I see that for a moment?" Beckett said to them, indicating the material. They handed it over hesitantly, following their handover with a blowing of warm air into cupped hands.

Beckett rubbed the match on the piece of rough sail fabric, and after a minute or so of quick movement, lit the match. The crew gave a little cheer and he dropped the match in the jar with the kindling.

Shortly thereafter the crew had become uncomfortably close, huddled directly up against the slowly building flame. Most of the crew were still a distance from the flame, and sat shivering, not much better off than before.

"I jus' thought o' somethin'," Pintel said, from his position behind Ragetti's, Marty's, and Gibbs's closer position to the flame. "Why don't we pass aroun' the jar so that everyone gets a chance at the heat."

It became a game of hot potato that no one wanted to win. Each crewmember held onto the jar as long as possible, usually positioning the container in the center of their crossed legs until the jar was taken from them by the next crewmember. This continued for a while.

Jack entered the brig, seeing the crew seemingly cooperating, passing around a gallon jar.

"Wot are you all doing?" he asked his crew.

"Tryin' to keep ourselves warm!" Marty cried. "Are we gonna be leavin' here any time soon, Cap'n?"

"Aye," Jack replied, nodding. The remainder of the crew stopped focusing their gazes on the desirable jar of fire, instead looking at their captain. Beckett could only scoff. Jack had already claimed this twice before to no avail during the near-month they had been anchored here.

"When are we leavin' then?" Ragetti asked.

"Right now," Jack replied. The looks he was now receiving were etched with doubt. More scoffs were heard.

"We have decided to make berth in the Azores," Jack matter-of-factly replied. "From there, we shall acquire new crew an' supplies, then we will be free to sail th' seas as we please."

Beckett felt a pang in his heart at the familiar place. A pang that was only associated with this particular island chain deep in his past. The only time his emotions had gotten the better of him. Ever since then he had conditioned himself to never express those horrid things to any great extent again.

"So wot's stoppin' us now?" Pintel asked. Jack rolled his eyes in reply, noticing Beckett doing the same. Immediately he quit the eye-rolling.

"Death is wot's stoppin' us. We beat th' Comp'ny once rather recently," he said, casting a sidelong glance at Beckett, who looked away, "an' escaped their related minions thrice. Once barely, if you recall. We have not th' supplies nor th' manpower nor th' energy to take on a ship of our own size, let alone larger, which is wot all th' ships o' the line an' o' th' company seem to be nowadays. An' so we lay low in a warmer climate whilst we rebuild. Wot say you to that?"

"Aye," came from the crewmembers. Beckett sat where he was, arms crossed, staring at the flame in the jar, which was now in front of Murtogg and Mullroy.

The crew began to rise from their positions on the floor, dusting the frost off their frockcoats and waistcoats and breeches. They steeled themselves for the numbing cold they'd be exposed to above deck. However, they were happy to know that they'd be setting sail as soon as the sails caught the icy winds that whipped through every so often.

Beckett remained seated in the forecastle. Upon the leave of the crew, he looked up at Jack.

"What makes you think that no one will be looking for you in the Azores?" he asked the captain. "It's a well-known trade route and refueling point for both the Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company." Beckett felt uncomfortable with the notion of returning there—not that anyone would remember him by now. It was the last time in his life he had been a rage of emotions.

"Let's jus' say… I'd be out o' my mind to e'er try to return," Jack replied. "I had figured that _you_, of all people, would have been made aware o' my situation, at least from your time in th' Royal Navy."

The former lord flashed him a look of confusion. How could Jack have had a bad experience there as well, also during _his_ time in the Royal Navy…. It was such a strange coincidence. Jack continued explaining.

"Even though you are _not_ aware, which does indeed surprise me, I do know that th' entirety o' th' Royal Navy would know to never look for me there, no matter how dire th' circumstances."

"And why is that," Beckett asked, a slight smirk on his face.

"All that's important is that it creates a doubt in the minds of my enemies to ever consider my visiting there."

Beckett did not like the idea of returning to the Azores, and desperately wanted Jack to change his mind. Anywhere was better than there. Anywhere. Well, except for Port Royal, of course….

"And what of the East India Trading Company? They know not of your unfortunate experience there. They'll be looking for you there."

"Not so," Jack said confidently, "bein' as mos' of the Royal Navy men at the time th' issue occurred are now high officers an' leaders of the Company. An' it's somethin' they won't forget to remember. Or would that be, 'remember to forget?"

"You shouldn't be so sure of that," Beckett drawled.

"Wot? Have you been communicating wiv them in th' las' two months you've been aboard th' _Pearl_? Right. Didn't think so."

"But really, a better place to go would be—"

"No," Jack said, stopping Beckett mid-sentence with a hand. "I am _not_ listenin' to your advice again, Mr. North Pole. I'll never forget how bloody awful that particular idea o' yours was."

"But I can assure you, there are so many safer places than the—"

"You may be good at knowin' how to flee and knowing wot truly constitutes 'no man's land' but I say to you this decision is final, discussed amongst the captains of the ship."

"Captains," Beckett scoffed disdainfully. "What exactly is the nature of this problem?"

"It seems that you have more of a problem wiv the Azores than I do."

"You aren't answering my question. Wouldn't your crewmates be aware of the situation as well?" Beckett asked. "I don't understand what should stop you from revealing to me this problem, being as I can just ask anyone else."

"Actually, they are not aware o' th' situation," Jack said very quietly. "Wot is _your_ situation there? You're awfully adamant about avoidin' it."

"Nothing," Beckett snapped back. "I simply do not wish to be strung up by the East India Trading Company, which has been waiting so patiently for your arrival."

This was a good excuse, and a valid one for Beckett. But not the prime reason he did not wish to return. _Oh, the rotten memories I'll always have of that godforsaken place…._

"Well, if you reveal to any o' my crew th' presence of a situation there, I shall see to it that it is never revealed or known by anyone but meself. If I hear a word of it from anyone else aboard, I may even be so inclined as to toss you from th' _Pearl_… savvy?"

"So apparently the situation is over there, being as no one may ever know what occurred," Beckett said, hoping to extract more information. _Too bad his threat didn't also consist of avoiding the place altogether…._

"That I do not know," was the curt reply. Jack shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting nervously about the room. "At any rate, you're an able-bodied hand now, so you can aid in our departure from this frozen hell that you actually _recommended_ us to go to," he said, signaling with covered hands to the area above his head.

Beckett remained seated, smirking.

"Just because I recommended it doesn't mean it is law."

"That's not the point. No one could come up wiv a better idea, I had thought at the time. But now I realize that any other place all th' way to world's end is better than here! The bloody _locker_ is better than here!"

"Well, the _Pearl_ did remain safe during our stay here, did she not? It's not like I set some sort of trap for you pirates."

"You've got to watch your wordin' from now on, because popular opinion is o' the persuasion that you yourself have gone pirate. An' that's not entirely inaccurate, is it?"

Beckett narrowed his eyes at the captain and exhaled a puff of steam, yet didn't say a word. He glanced down very briefly at the ring on his finger, the reminder of a better life and the hope that someday he could be redeemed. But the Azores… Why did they have to go _there_, of all places?

* * *

Upon Jack's departure from the forecastle, Beckett stood up, picking the piece of sail off of the floor and wrapping it around at chest-height. The flame in the jar was flickering wildly with the influx of wind due to the recent leave of the crew. _Shame to have spent so long starting the fire, only to have it blown out shortly thereafter._

The former lord was very curious as to what had occurred at their destination that had made it impossible for the Royal Navy to imagine Jack ever going back. He would have to investigate and ask the right questions. _Maybe Jack told Elizabeth_, he thought. _She's more prone to accidentally reveal the past of another, than he is to reveal his own past. No one need know my unfortunate association with the place._ _However,_ _I wonder if it would be safe for me to disembark in the Azores._ _For good._

* * *

Elizabeth sat in Jack's cabin with Barbossa, awaiting Jack's news from telling the new heading to the crew. The past month had not been good to her. Every morning she would awake with nausea and would lie in bed for an extra time, attempting to curb these unwelcome feelings so as not to burden the remainder of the crew. She had blamed the lack of fresh food on this new daily experience for her, and vowed that once they arrived in civilization again, she would gorge herself on any food she could get her hands on. She also noticed the absence of her woman's cycle, but attributed this to the lack of good nutrition. There had been other times in her life, times of great stress, that she had missed her cycle, but it had resumed once the source of stress was removed. _My body will straighten up once we get to the Azores_, she mused. _That is, if the crew agrees to go there… but I don't see why they wouldn't._

Jack returned to the cabin, a big toothy grin on his face.

"Guess wot?" he queried. "Azores it is!"

Elizabeth gave a little cheer, and Barbossa only grunted in reply, now seated where Jack had been.

She had noticed Jack in past days trying to decipher the Singaporean chart, with its array of circles that could be turned and adjusted to reveal new adventures. Unless he was keeping a secret regarding some unforeseen treasure hidden somewhere in the Azores islands, he hadn't found any exciting new destinations on the map.

She watched Jack pacing in front of the large window of his cabin, face twisted with concern.

"What's wrong, Jack?" Elizabeth piped up. "You look troubled."

He suddenly became aware of her addressing him, and froze in place.

"Nothing's the matter," he replied hastily, on the defensive. "We're leavin', aren't we? I'm not troubled."

All of a sudden Gibbs burst through the door, clutching the doorjamb with an unsteady hand.

"Cap'n, we can't raise the anchor!"

"Are ye sayin' tha' we actually dropped anchor here?" Barbossa said to Jack. "The ice aroun' the ship prob'ly'd do the job on its own."

"We've been here nearly a month, an' you never noticed that?" Jack shot back.

"D'ye see anyone darin' to go above deck fer more than a few minutes? I guess I just thought ye'd be smarter than that."

"Well, if it weren't for you tryin' to make quick work of your task in Curaçao by takin' the anchor an' crew o' th' _Merry Murder_, we wouldn't have had 'em mutiny on us, creatin' th' need to return to Port Royal an' now havin' countless redcoats hot on our trail, thus drivin' us into hidin', an' possibly resultin' in the second loss of th' anchor. It just seems you came full circle. Th' new crewmates you picked up? Gone – didn' even last an hour. New anchor? Probably goin' to be gone as well. A useless endeavour, it was."

Elizabeth, Jack, and Gibbs watched Barbossa's face turn the shade of red of his nose.

"That rescue in Port Royal was not needed, by any means," was Barbossa's reply. "Where'd it get us? 'nother mouth to feed. Less supplies fer the others t' make use of. He's the _enemy_, Jack. I shan't see yer purpose fer not jus' lettin' Beckett hang."

Elizabeth began to open her mouth, but Jack beat her to it.

"Th' reward for 'is capture before was 10,000 pounds. Can you imagine wot it's risen to now? Upon his impromptu stay of execution _an'_ darin' escape wiv an infamous pirate captain as well as th' pirate king—" he said, looking over at Elizabeth, "—he's made hisself of use as a source of emergency funds. Prob'ly at th' very _least_ 25,000 pounds to hand 'im in now."

Barbossa looked unimpressed, and Elizabeth couldn't help but let her jaw drop a little. Jack truly did anything for the benefits that it bestowed on him and him alone. It seemed that nothing he did could be attributed to just being a nice person. Barbossa spoke.

"Are ye tellin' me tha' we've been reduced to needin' a mere sum o' twenty-five thousand pounds? When I be cap'n o' the _Pearl_, such a sum'd be—"

"Wouldn't we be much better off wiv that sort of money to spend as we please? New crew, new supplies?"

"We're pirates through an' through," Barbossa growled. "What be the need o' money to get those things, when we can always plunder 'em?"

"'Course that was always appropriate before, but now that we're already bein' watched for by every sort o' group, even _other_ pirates seeking their fortunes –referring to your _Merry Murder_ blokes, o' course –it'd be best to lay low until we have said supplies an' crew in our possession. Do you not agree?"

Barbossa gave Jack a haggard look, but it appeared that he would submit. He spoke.

"An' how to do propose we hand 'im o'er, if'n th' need should arise? We're sure t' be recognized. Each one o' us is prob'ly worth twice as much as he is."

Jack idly stared at his grimy fingernails.

"Actually probably only myself is worth quite that much, th' last time I checked."

Barbossa rolled his eyes.

"However," Jack continued, ignoring the other captain's response, "it would not be one of us turnin' 'im in."

Elizabeth looked on with anticipation. _What kind of tricks does he have up his sleeve now?_ The cabin was absolutely silent for a minute or so.

"The person being—" Elizabeth began. Jack held a finger up, a grin spreading on his face.

"Th' real traitors aboard th' _Pearl_."

* * *

So, does this have potential? This was a rather long chapter. Not all chapters should be quite so long. That's either a bad thing or a good thing...


	2. A Changed Man

A/N: Thanks for the feedback, guys! I really appreciate it:)

* * *

Chapter 2 – A Changed Man

Warnings: none

* * *

"An' who would these traitors be, pray tell?" Gibbs asked, finally entering the cabin fully, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Did you ever catch a glimpse o' th' chest containin' th' heart o' Davy Jones aboard th' _Dutchman_?"

"Don't change the subject, Jack," Elizabeth snapped.

"I'm not," he countered. "It has everythin' to do wiv wot I'm tellin' you."

When he was returned with blank stares from all three, he sighed.

"Th' guards," he said, gesticulating wildly. "The ones that were guardin' th' chest. Anyone on th' _Pearl_ seem… familiar to you?"

Elizabeth suddenly recalled the odd familiarity she had felt with the newest members of the _Pearl_, the ones who had retrieved Beckett's frockcoat and waistcoat for her after Beckett's flogging.

"You mean…. Smith and Hawkins?" she asked.

"Wot?" Jack snorted at her. "I dunno their names. The point is, I found two red coats stowed aboard th' _Pearl_. An' upon findin' them, I soon came to th' conclusion that our newest hands are a rather bumbling sort o' pair, former soldiers o' the Royal Navy an' formerly sided wiv th' East India Trading Company. I find it highly likely that they stowed away before th' end o' th' _Endeavour_'s life above th' water."

"So what are you planning on doing?" Elizabeth said, having been lost by his detailed explanations.

"They're goin' to be th' very ones that turn Beckett in, if th' need should arise."

Barbossa did not look convinced.

"An' why do ye think they'll not keep the reward fer themselves, an' take off? Or, seein' as they once were loyal to 'im, to jus' let 'im walk?"

"Blackmail," Jack said matter-of-factly, flashing a big smile. "Simple as that. I shall vow to them that if they do _not_ follow my explicit instruction, they will not be able to set foot on land again wivout bein' gunned down for their treachery to th' Crown. Or if they happen to be unlucky enough to be spotted by myself, to be shot where they stand."

"That's quite the dastardly plan," Elizabeth muttered, wondering how Jack's mind could constantly be scheming against others.

"C'mon, Lizzie," he said, beaming. "Could you really expect any less from Captain Jack Sparrow?"

It didn't take very many seconds for Barbossa and Gibbs to leave the cabin.

* * *

For the past month, Beckett had been actively avoiding Elizabeth. Perhaps it was because he still felt embarrassed in assuming that he was going to die, and saying all that he had said to her. He had never revealed his regret to another living being, even his own family members. However, in having done so, Elizabeth no longer hated him. When she would happen to catch his eye, she never flashed him the glare of utmost contempt as before. She would simply avert her eyes or suddenly take interest in some aspect of the ship's architecture, and get away hastily.

He stood above deck with the other crew, watching them angling the sails so as to catch the wind. Gibbs was at the helm, altering the rudder's direction to make the crews' job easier. A rather nasty gale of wind blew across his face, and he backed himself into the slightly protected region in front of the captain's cabin door. This was a mistake.

Suddenly, Elizabeth opened the cabin door, causing it to whack Beckett rather forcefully in the side.

He yelled in protest, grabbing the side of the arm that took most of the hit.

"Watch where you're going, you bloody—"

Once he glanced up and saw that it was Elizabeth who had hit him with the door, he abruptly stopped talking with a sharp intake of frigid air. His eyes drifted downwards immediately, and he clasped his hands together demurely in front of him.

Elizabeth looked at him, her face flushing. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were standing there," she said, noticing his complete lack of eye contact. He seemed to be a completely changed man from the confident one of yore. She decided to press him for information, because it didn't make sense to her as to why he had been purposely avoiding her and completely unable to look at her.

"Is there something wrong with you?" she said to the former lord. His head suddenly jerked up, eyes not following until a few seconds later.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I've just noticed you've been acting funny lately."

"Really," he said, with a slightly affronted air, making eye contact with her for a split second, and then dropping his gaze. This agitated Elizabeth to no end.

"It just seems as if you have something to hide. You can't even look me in the eye anymore."

He sighed, and then raised his eyes once again, this time making eye contact and holding it there. He continued to stare at her, which was making her uneasy, the first time in a month that he was willing to look at her for more than a split second. His cheeks were rosy red from the icy winds whipping at his face, and his mouth was only slightly ajar, allowing his outtakes of breath to emerge in puffs of steam. He had been letting his facial hair grow out, for there was a beginning of a moustache and goatee forming. Even his cheeks had longer stubble coming in.

"I have nothing to hide," he said nonchalantly, holding his hands out to the side.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't understand what you're getting at." He paused. "It is I that has come to the realization that you've been avoiding _me_," he countered.

"I have only been treating you differently because the way you've been acting lately is unnerving."

"Then how is the situation supposed to improve if it's never addressed," he replied dryly.

"But isn't that what we're doing now?"

He gave her a half-hearted smirk, but his eyes were not smiling. "So it is," he said softly.

"Is there anything you'd like to clear up while we're face-to-face?" she asked him, crossing her arms as she watched his smirk fade.

_I could never tell her just how uncomfortable it is speaking to her after I revealed what I thought would be my last words. I have now misjudged twice what I perceived to be certain death. And what's worse is that I believe I actually meant my words that night. Otherwise, what would have possessed me to reveal them at a time when they would have given me no benefit? _

He must have been pondering for a time, because he heard her speak again.

"I can see you're considering. Just spit it out."

He narrowed his eyes at her, looking slightly offended.

"Why the sudden curiosity to know my innermost feelings?"

She cut him off as he realized he had already said too much on the matter.

"So your avoidance of me has to deal with your innermost feelings? This must be very grave indeed. I didn't even know you had innermost feelings."

He let out a bored chuckle.

"In fact it is nothing. This climate is simply not suitable for conversation; it's only appropriate for huddling in some protected corner and allowing for the endless chattering of one's teeth."

"So you're going to snap out of it once we reach the Azores?" she said, half-smiling, awaiting a reply.

"Alright," he huffed, after a minute's hesitation.

She pointed at him accusingly, her face a broad smile.

"Then you admit it, you _have_ been acting strangely!"

"You must not be so sure of the truth yourself, to have to verify it with me," he mumbled.

"Well, you're aware that you've been different!" she replied.

"I don't have time for this," he said, averting his eyes and looking towards the struggling crew.

She scoffed rather loudly.

"I'm not the cause of your inability to help the crew. You were huddled over here in the first place."

He rolled his eyes.

"I certainly realize that I made a dire error in judgment in doing so," he grumbled, stepping briskly away from her upon the finishing of his sentence.

She could only scoff again, her mouth agape, feeling a rage of emotions. Cutler Beckett – the man she had presumed to be changed, the man who had offered his regret and sorrow for the grief he had caused her, the man who had saved her life –had just blown her off completely and was as cold and callous as ever.

She watched him stride proudly towards the crew in his ruined frockcoat, wrapped in a piece of faded black sail, never looking back. This lack of getting through to him almost felt like rejection, and it stung her. As well as this, the fact that lately she had been uncharacteristically moody and emotional didn't help matters any.

Before he reached the mainsail, Elizabeth was behind him, tapping him forcefully on the shoulder. He turned his head to see who had just touched him, and upon the realization that it was Elizabeth, turned his head back to the front.

"What is _your_ problem?" she squawked, feeling the sting of rejection, abandonment, and a fear that perhaps she had misjudged Beckett to be a decent man.

"I do not know what you are speaking of," he replied coldly.

A cold wind whipped across Elizabeth's face and instinctively she ducked down and turned her head to hide the exposed skin of her face in the fabric of the sail that was currently draped around Beckett. This resulted in her face being nestled close to the crook of his arm. He jerked away as if scalded and looked at her with distrust.

Immediately upon becoming aware of what she had just done, Elizabeth's face flushed scarlet even more so than the winds could cause, shot him a look of contempt, and headed back towards Jack's cabin.

Once at the door, she yanked it open and went over to Jack, who had since wrapped the sheets around his face and shoulders so that it appeared that he was wearing a burka. Only his kohl-lined eyes were exposed to the chill of the air.

"The nerve of that bloody prig!" she exclaimed, throwing herself down on a chair.

"Wot's wrong, luv?" Jack asked, leaning in closer to her.

"Beckett – he's being so weird now. He can't even look me in the eye. I daresay I don't trust him anymore, what with him being so avoidant and… strange."

"Don' you see, Lizzie? He prob'ly never thought he was goin' to see us again, an' yet, here he is, havin' to deal wiv th' consequences of perhaps _sayin' too much_."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never known th' man to ever admit to anything, let alone apologize heartfelt-ly. It seems that you've gotten him to do both, an' it probably bothers 'im that you got to 'im that much."

"Oh." She suddenly looked lost in thought, rather ashamed of how she had jumped to conclusions over the awkwardness she felt every time Beckett was in her proximity.

Gibbs suddenly ran into Jack's cabin.

"We caught the wind, Jack! We're settin' sail now!"

"But wot of th' anchor?" Jack asked.

"Once we shattered some o' the ice aroun' the anchor cable, we were able to pull it right up. 'Twas just th heavy ice surroundin' the cable that be hinderin' us before."

"Perfect," Jack said, wanting to clap his hands together but choosing to keep them stashed away in warmth.

* * *

Once the _Pearl_ had set sail for its new, warmer destination, Beckett followed the crew back down to the forecastle, noticing the odor of smoke.

"Bloody 'ell! She's outta control!" Ragetti yelled, grabbing the large bottle of somehow-not-frozen liquid. Beckett watched him lift it over the flaming jar, hearing the sloshing of the liquid in the bottle. Something felt very wrong.

"No, wait!" he yelled, rushing forward, just as Ragetti poured the rum on the fire.


	3. Fire And Ice

A/N: thanks to the reviewers for the last chapter. I liked the ideas on what might happen once the rum was poured on the fire. Thanks for your thoughts.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Fire And Ice

Warnings: none

* * *

The flames shot up the cascading liquid right back into the bottle, Ragetti yelping and dropping it to the floor in shock. The bottle landed on the jar containing the fire, the kindling and the paper, causing both glass containers to break into several large shards on the floor. Fed by the rum, the pieces of kindling scattered about; and with the better source of oxygen, the fire spread across the alcohol, which was now spilled all over the floor.

"Oh no; what've I done?" Ragetti exclaimed, now running around the forecastle like a chicken with its head cut off. Pintel tried to catch him whenever he'd get close to the rest of the crew, who stood frozen, watching the fire charring the floorboards. Two of the crew ran away, yelling "fire, fire!" at the top of their lungs. Beckett rolled his eyes, looking back at the remaining crew. Staying calm was his specialty.

"Fetch some water," he commanded, watching them stand dumbstruck at the entrance to the room. The stupidity of these men amazed him, and he scoffed. "Well, what are you all waiting for? For the ship to catch fire?"

Murtogg was the only one to do an about-face and listen to Beckett's order. As Murtogg retreated from the forecastle, Beckett stood in front of the flames, eerily entranced by the way it was slowly chewing up the wood of the forecastle, rendering the boards black and curled into slender fibres.

Soon Murtogg returned. "All the water stores are frozen!" he yelled, pushing ahead of the immobile crewmates to explain the predicament.

"In case you've failed to notice, we are sitting in the middle of the bloody _ocean_," Beckett shot back, disdain in his voice. Giving the lout orders seemed awfully familiar. Where had he seen the man before?

Murtogg's face turned red and he hurried away again without saying another word.

The flames were now spreading along the floorboards. Thankfully the wood had been relatively frozen by the frigid temperature or else the fire would have spread much faster.

When Murtogg still hadn't returned and the fire was now threatening to lick the hammocks with its ever-increasing height, Beckett remembered the piece of sail he had wrapped around his back and threw it frosty-side down onto the fire, stomping on it to smother the fire. Once he had smothered most of the spreading fire, he picked the fabric up and threw it over the pieces of glass that still had flames around them. Thankfully the piece of sail was large enough to drape over the pieces of glass and smother the flames effectively.

Shortly after the fire was extinguished, wisps of black smoke rising from the sail on the floor, an alarmed Jack and Elizabeth appeared in the doorway of the forecastle, followed closely by the two crewmates who had been shouting about the fire. Jack pushed through the immobile crew, trailed closely by Elizabeth. Beckett looked up from where the piece of sail was lying on the floor, and stepped away from the scene of the former fire.

"Where's th' fire?" Jack said demandingly, sniffing the air to smell the remnants of smoke. Beckett moved closer to Jack so that he was now standing less than a foot away from the captain. All the while he ignored Elizabeth.

"I took the liberty of extinguishing the fire whilst your bumbling crew gaped on," he murmured. "It amazes me that your ship has stayed afloat thus far, what with your propensity to hire halfwits."

His murmurings to Jack were ever so soft and intimate-sounding, yet Elizabeth caught the final words Beckett had said to Jack. And he wasn't being nice.

"Whose idea was it to set a bloody _fire_ aboard my ship, may I ask?" Jack said to the crew, ignoring Beckett's remark.

The crew looked towards Ragetti, whose face flushed.

"Ah, Mister Ragetti. So it was you. Do you deny it?"

Elizabeth and Jack were now staring at the one-eyed crewmember. Ragetti let his head fall, looking defeated.

"N-no, Sir."

Pintel suddenly spoke up.

"Well, it was Beckett that helped 'im make th' fire," he said, pointing at Beckett accusingly. "Ragetti only came up with th' idea; Beckett was the one ta actually put it into effect. If anyone should be blamed, it's 'im!"

Some of the other crew gave their assent in the forms of nodding, and looked to see Beckett's reaction. He was still the enemy, even though his efforts had afforded them a short time of semi-warmth in the forecastle.

In addition to the majority of the crew, Jack and Elizabeth turned to face Beckett, whose face was darkening by the second, his mouth agape in shock. He shot the most hateful glare he could conjure in Pintel's direction, and then looked to Jack, who was now glaring at him. Jack suddenly seemed to have an idea.

"Ah, so we have solved th' riddle o' how me ship's stayed afloat for so long. An' that's 'cause_ you weren't on it_."

"Throw 'im overboard!" someone shouted, from the crowd at the door. Beckett looked offended, but couldn't immediately think of a retort. His eyes flashed to Elizabeth, who was trying to spot the person who had yelled out the comment. _At least she's not glaring at me at the moment_, he mused, feeling completely cornered otherwise. He spoke up.

"It's rather amusing when I recall none of you protesting to my helping gather the materials for the fire, nor protesting after the fire was lit. Quite the contrary, I must say." He glared at particular crewmembers previously showing support for a fire. Suddenly, he remembered the rum. He had won this argument, hands down.

"Whoever brought the bottle of rum up to the fire is the true culprit," he added. "I had the fire contained safely within a jar, and it wasn't until _he_—" he said, pointing at Ragetti, "—poured rum on it that the fire got out of control."

Suddenly all eyes shifted back to Ragetti, whose face was red with shame.

"I thought it was water," he confessed, shrugging. He received a dirty look from Jack, who didn't like him anyway, though probably not as much as he hated Beckett. Even so, it had been impossible to get the skinny crewmate off of his ship – for good. This was a prime excuse to let Ragetti go, with good reason at that.

Pintel glared at Beckett, running a finger across his own throat. Beckett could only stare at him contemptuously, utterly fed up with the bald pirate's threats.

"Well, what's important is that the fire is now out," Elizabeth said, watching Jack's suspicious glance in her direction. Beckett let out an internal sigh of relief at her not speaking against him.

Jack gave Beckett a sidelong glance and muttered to him quietly.

"You're jus' lucky you got th' bloody fire all put out, mate; because if th' _Pearl_ had been damaged, you'd be in the firs' into th' water… Savvy?"

The fact that Elizabeth was standing there made Beckett feel as if he should try to keep a civil tongue now. Yes, she seemed to be unbiased at this point, but if he went ahead and said something spiteful again, he could possibly lose what little support he had aboard the ship. If one could call general indifference and avoidance, with which Elizabeth had been treating him, a form of support.

"Alright," Beckett muttered, letting his head hang a bit. "I savvy, or whatever you call it."

He heard the crew laughing in response to his foppish answer, but did not raise his eyes. _I wonder what Elizabeth makes of this acquiescence._ Very subtly and quickly, he glanced at her face, seeing her eyes downcast, seemingly deep in thought. _Well, it's a start anyhow. It's got her thinking…._

"Let it be known to all that no other fire is permitted to be lit aboard th' _Pearl_," Jack stated. "Anyone disobeyin' this rule shall be thrown to Davy Jones' lock—" his face suddenly lit up with realization. "Well, actually, that'd now be W—"

He received a stomp on the foot from Elizabeth, whose teeth were bared.

"—will be thrown to the depths."

Beckett was very confused by this exchange between Jack and Elizabeth. Not only was he ignorant of Jack's problem with the Azores, but he was also aware of another not-so-subtle row between Jack and Elizabeth. _I think I'm losing my touch. I've never felt so unaware of what's going on…._

* * *

I'm sorry this chapter is not very long. However, the next chapter is twice as long and has lots of Beckett/Elizabeth interaction.


	4. Sick Stumblings

Chapter 4 – Sick Stumblings

Warnings: mentionin's o' sickness, an' a curse word

* * *

As the days and weeks passed and the _Pearl_ put more and more distance between herself and Greenland, the weather became mild enough that it was bearable to stand above deck wearing day-to-day clothes.

The mainsail was slowly regaining badly-stitched patches of cloth that had previously been sliced off during the _Pearl_'s stay at the North Pole.

When the ship was anchored off of the coast of Greenland, Beckett would remain awake until everyone had fallen asleep in the crew's quarters, namely Pintel. Now that he had several personal vendettas against the man, he sought to at least be sailing through warmer waters before preparing himself for the imminent fight, in case he should be shoved overboard. Before the altercation with Pintel regarding the fire, he would wait until the crew was asleep, and set up a hammock as far away from the bald pirate as possible in an attempt to fall asleep, wrapped up in whatever decently flexible fabric he could get his hands on. Now that the tension between him and Pintel had increased, he would simply retire to the area of the brig late each night, hang his hammock from the grated ceiling, and sleep in there, which became easier and easier to bear as the weather warmed up.

During their stay in the frigid North Pole, Jack had made a place for Gibbs on a comfy armchair in his cabin, so that his loyal First Mate would have a warmer place to sleep. Barbossa stayed in a smaller cabin, but because it had no windows, it was not drafty like Jack's cabin, and therefore was the warmest place on the ship. His cabin shared a wall with Elizabeth's cabin. Elizabeth usually remained in Jack's cabin during mealtimes and would retire to her cabin at night, remembering the sole bedmate that for one night slept next to her. It hadn't been Will; it had been an apparently unconscious Beckett, for some silly instinct of hers had told her that it was in his best interest to stay warm. She had been correct of course; his health had improved upon her applying primitive sterilizing agents to his wounds and in his being moved in a warmer environment. And now her own health was on the line and she couldn't do anything to help it.

One morning, dizzy with nausea more so than usual, Elizabeth awoke with a start and decided to get some air. As she traversed the ship and where she thought to always be devoid of crew during the night, she just so happened to stumble down to the brig, unexpectedly finding Beckett there, fast asleep in a hammock.

As she turned and headed back the other way, she happened to step on the perpetually squeaky floorboard in the brig. Beckett's hand shot to his waist, and pulled out a dagger, all before he had even opened his eyes. He had practiced this move for if Pintel should arrive, but had not yet perfected his plan. Upon jerking his upper body up off the hammock, he completely lost his balance and tumbled out of the hammock onto the ground, dagger clattering off to his side.

Elizabeth instinctively jumped back when he fell to the ground in a noisy heap, feeling overcome with a rather persistent wave of nausea. She watched his eyes fly open, their expression rather annoyed as they were yet unable to see anything in the darkened brig.

"Who's there," he demanded, turning onto his side and fumbling with both hands for the dagger as he spoke.

Elizabeth felt on the verge of getting physically sick, her head swimming with dizziness. Before she was to do what she had avoided thus far, she plopped down right where she was, grabbing her heaving stomach in an attempt to settle it. Beckett felt around blindly for the dagger for another minute or so before his eyes adjusted to the light.

It was then that he saw Elizabeth doubled over in front of him, sitting with legs crossed, holding her stomach and rocking back and forth on the floor of the brig.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he asked, watching her continue to sway, a sickened expression on her face.

She glanced up only very briefly at him, her face looking quite pitiful, her skin a subtle shade of green. It seemed that she had her jaw set so as to keep her mouth shut. Beckett didn't know how to read this new expression. _Elizabeth's never acted this way before. What is she trying to do? And why is she just sitting there?_

He gaped at her as he watched the twinkle of a tear running from the corners of her eyes, both of which were now shut tightly. _What the bloody hell is going on here?_ he mused, utterly lost.

"Are you in pain?" he asked her softly, a tinge of caution in his voice.

She shook her head, continuing to rock back and forth.

"Then why are you cry—"

Suddenly he heard a strained, muffled noise coming from her throat, her hand afterwards shooting to her mouth, and understood.

"You're sick," he drawled, face twisted with disgust but with a dash of sympathy mixed in, watching her in this pitiful state.

She opened her eyes once again, keeping them locked on the floor, and nodded while making a sickening swallowing sound.

His mind raced. _What am I supposed to do? Is she going to get sick on me? I won't be able to sleep with that sort of thing present._ He saw a pail nearby and grabbed it, pushing it in front of Elizabeth.

She grabbed the pail and held it to her body, using one of her hands to lift her shirt slightly and lay the cool metal against her hot stomach. Beckett felt like an intruder for something he shouldn't be seeing. _This is all too—strange._ He stood up quickly, looking at her from his new height.

"Would you like me to fetch someone for you?" he asked, watching her body language carefully. More than likely she would still not be able to speak.

She shook her head. He took a small step towards the ladder. Immediately she stuck an arm out towards the ladder as if to attempt to bar his way.

"Do you want me to stay here?" he questioned, noticing the action of her arm. She nodded, still rocking back and forth on the floor, unable to look up.

He sighed very quietly, shifting uneasily from leg to leg as he stood above her, watching her rock back and forth, now giving a sort of down-motion signal with her hand as to tell him to sit down.

"You want me to sit." He had made it seem more of a statement than a question, but he had understood the gesture.

She nodded.

He slowly sank to the floor, watching her warily for signs of physical sickness. He couldn't be around that at the moment—or any moment, really. Things like that bothered him.

Once he was seated across from her on the floor, he continued to eye her for danger signs. _I'm prepared to jump up as soon as anything should occur_, he told himself, keeping one of his legs bent for readiness.

Another several minutes he sat there, unable to think of anything to say or do. _I'd rather not cause her to have to gesture again, because that might be the action that changes her feeling sick to actually being sick. And I'm _not_ going to deal with that._

* * *

After a time of Beckett staring off uncomfortably in various directions, none including looking directly at Elizabeth, she began to rock more slowly and was now able to look at him, still keeping the pail clutched against her bare midriff. He said not a word. She swallowed uncomfortably, and then looked at him intently.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said aloud, probably more to herself than to him.

"You've probably picked up a bit of seasickness," he replied. "The waves were rather choppy last night, if I do say so myself."

"Don't remind me," she groaned, her face shiny with sweat. "But I know it's not that."

"Then what is it?" he said.

"Well, this has been a daily occurrence for me."

"You could be experiencing chronic seasickness," he ventured, noticing the faintest sliver of flesh exposed at pail height on her body.

"It's possible, but we were securely tied down back in Greenland. The ship was practically frozen in the ice," she remarked, followed by a scoff. "My house in Port Royal lurched more than the_ Pearl_ did then."

"Oh," he replied blandly. "So you've been experiencing this all along?"

It had been a few weeks since they had departed from Greenland. They were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean between North America and Spain at this point in time.

"This has been the worst bout of it so far, but yes. It began almost as soon as we stopped in Greenland, actually."

"What made you come down here?"

She noticed the shift from caring questions to a self-centered question, and sighed. Beckett was back to his old antics…

"I woke up feeling this way, as is now customary, and I decided to get some air. I never imagined you'd be sleeping in the brig _voluntarily_."

"Well, it's not as if I'm sleeping in the cell, which is demolished anyway. It's just that this grating is a perfectly suitable place to hang a hammock."

"Why aren't you staying with the crew?"

He flashed her a look essentially saying, _you should know that_.

"It's Pintel, right?" she guessed. "I hope we can be rid of him when we arrive at our destination."

Beckett grunted in reply. _Hopefully I can be gone as well, at that point._

"You should have a doctor examine you when we make berth in the Azores," he told her. "It's not normal to feel ill every morning."

"Maybe I should," she replied, intrigued at his concern.

"Actually," he said, a thought occurring to him, "I know the best doctor there, on Pico Island, one of the larger of the Azores islands. I'll take you to him."

He felt a strange pang that he hadn't felt in years. A pang that reminded him he could still feel regret…. Regret that would never be known by anyone but himself.

"You would do that?" she replied, looking a bit excited. Suspicion overcame her. "But how do you know all this?"

"As a former member of the Royal Navy, I made port all over the world. Including the Azores."

"But then, how would you know about the best—"

"I wasn't finished," he snapped, somewhat irritated. "As I was saying, we made berth in Azores, that is, after suffering extensive casualties off of the coast of England. I was one of the casualties. At any rate, we discovered this doctor… one who was somehow able to both give the best advice and to perform the intricate procedures to the best of his ability. Needless to say, he saved all of us from what we had assumed to be certain death."

_Please have her believe it_, he mused, although the story he told was completely true, _because I'm not going into any more detail._ His experience with the doctor had led to a life-changing series of events. He had met _her_ then. Elizabeth needed not know all those comings-about. _If she believes what I say, I daresay my plans are all falling nicely into place_. He gave her a smirk of confidence.

"This all sounds too good to be true," she said. Suddenly she was thoughtful. "I wonder if Jack's ever heard of this doctor."

Suddenly his curiosity was aroused, at what exactly had occurred in the Azores that made Jack extremely hesitant to return. Elizabeth _had_ to have known something, to bring up Jack immediately following his mention of the Azores. He prepared to ply her for information.

"It is possible, knowing as how his problem with the Azores occurred around the time of this doctor's existence there," he lied, having no idea about the truth of that statement. It was a shot in the dark.

"Oh?" she said, her interest piqued. She removed the pail from her belly, pulling her shirt down immediately. "Jack has a problem with the Azores?"

"You hadn't heard?" Beckett replied, immediately feeling glum. More than likely Jack had kept his mouth shut. _This must be rather serious indeed_, he mused.

"No. All Jack told me and Barbossa was that he had been there before. Now you've roused my curiosity," she said smilingly at Beckett, who could only watch her emotionlessly as he sat across from her on the floor.

_Shit_. Beckett felt incredibly stupid, remembering Jack's threat. _Now she's going to start asking Sparrow all sorts of questions on the matter, and more than likely I'll be tossed from the ship with a cannon chained to my ankles. This was stupid. She's never going to believe me if I immediately renege on the presence of a supposed problem there. I've got to think fast._

"It's not so much as a problem as it is a minor reason that Jack has stayed away from the Azores thus far."

"Then what's the reason?"

_Bloody hell_. He couldn't think fast enough. If he had some idea of what the issue could possibly be, he could give her some version of that. But nothing came to him. He'd have to take a different approach….

"Elizabeth," he said to her, shifting his body towards her oh-so-slightly. She looked at him, suspicion in her eyes. It was not customary of him to refer to her by her first name. Actually, it was not customary of him to refer to her by anything. He simply hadn't spoken to her in these past several weeks.

Silence passed.

"What?" she said guardedly.

"It is imperative that you refrain from mentioning this to Jack at least until we have already visited the doctor on Pico Island. He told me that if I alert anyone of his apparent problem there, that he'll turn the ship right back around again."

He immediately felt stupid upon the weakness of this apparent threat. _If she falls for what I have just said, I will lose any respect I have for her…. However, if I mention Jack's threat of throwing me overboard, that's even less of a threat. Besides, she could care less whether I live or die. She'd probably be _more_ likely to ask him if she knew that fact._

"I doubt he'd say something like that," she replied. _Clever girl_, Beckett mused. _Not that I'm being so clever myself, with my awkward, stupid wording._

"Why do you say that?" was his innocent reply.

"Because he hates Greenland. There's no way he'll ever return there, especially not on account of my simply being alerted to a _possible_ issue he has involving our destination."

Beckett struggled with a response to Elizabeth's directness.

"Well, in saying he was to turn right back around again, I'm not sure that he was referring to Greenland in particular."

"Well then, where could he have meant by it? Surely he's not going to embark on a suicide mission back to Port Royal… or Curaçao, for that matter. He's not stupid."

Beckett held his hands up as a form of surrender.

"Alright, I don't know where he meant. But can't you just refrain from questioning him about it, at least until we've made port there? At least by that point you'll have seen the doctor."

"Why are you suddenly so concerned about my health?" she questioned, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

It didn't make any sense, really. He had to think fast, before he would lose her trust forever. And he simply could not allow for that to happen.


	5. Suspicions And Admissions

Chapter 5 – Suspicions and Admissions

Warnings: none

* * *

"Because it could be something serious," Beckett managed to say.

"So? You hate me anyway. What would it matter if something serious was wrong with me?"

He cleared his throat, feeling prickly heat creeping up the skin of his neck.

"I don't hate you," he mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Ha! As if you expect me to believe that," she said, crossing her arms.

"Well, it's true," he replied, the blood rushing to his face as a confirmation of his assertion. He had to have been speaking the truth to feel this type of unfamiliar sensation. "I can't expect you to believe what I say, being as you utterly despise me, but there it is."

"I don't despise you."

"Then why do you refuse to believe anything I say? It's awfully frustrating talking to you, having to explain my every word afterwards."

"The way you've been acting lately has made me doubt your earlier—"

"What?" he shot. "You mean my admission aboard the _Pearl_—"

"Yes."

Affronted, he had interrupted her with impromptu blurting, and she had replied quickly with a resolute _yes_. It figured; the one time in his life he had been completely upfront with someone, and was _still_ unable to convince that person of the truth!

Beckett was most definitely blushing now. His hands suddenly felt cold and foreign gripping his upper arms, as all body heat had now accumulated in his face. He cleared his throat, feeling it tightening in the process. _So this is how it feels to be tongue-tied_, he mused, trying to find the correct wording. _This would have been much easier had I been lying in the first place_. He noticed her watching him intently, eyes glistening with interest. _I don't like this situation at all…. I can't lie, because then she'll have no reason to trust me anymore. _

He cleared his throat again.

"I was telling the truth," he stated simply.

"Really."

"Yes." He paused momentarily, to collect his thoughts. "In thinking I was dying, as everyone else likely did at that point in time, I had nothing to gain by telling you a lie. All that I said then was the truth."

"Then why has it been so hard for you to look me in the eye lately?" She remembered Jack's explanation of Beckett's actions, and wondered if Beckett would say something similar.

Beckett used a finger to loosen the collar of his shirt, which suddenly seemed to be stifling his breathing. His eye contact fell from her at that moment, and it was physically impossible to get them to look directly at her again. _Why is my body acting so stupidly,_ he mused. _I can't wait to get out of here, if only to avoid these ridiculous questions._

Elizabeth continued speaking, ignorant of Beckett's obvious discomfort.

"As Barbossa said above deck, a man that cannot look another—"

"I don't _know_ why," he said, interrupting Elizabeth mid-sentence.

"Oh, come on," she teased. "Surely you can think of a better reason than that."

"_You're_ suddenly well again," he retorted dryly, noticing her smile and total lack of rocking. She frowned in response to his comment.

"As I said, this only happens to me in the early morning. Don't try to change the subject."

"I could just leave, you know," he said, moving his leg as if to get up.

"Then that would prove to me that everything you've told me thus far is a lie," was her reply. "And I'd have no further reason to trust anything you say." She ended her comment with a smirk.

This was dangerous territory. _Why does she have to be so bloody on-guard all the time? Can't she just allow her defenses to fall for a moment? It must be hard being her. Of course, spending all the time with heathen pirates as she does, her suspicions have to be raised constantly. I'd probably do the same thing in her situation – actually, I've _been_ doing the same thing. Since when have I ever let my guard down? I'm never going to get anywhere with this, being as she and I are too much alike. _

"Alright," he replied hastily. "I don't know why you take pleasure in making me squirm, but… alright, I'll attempt to explain."

"Go on," she said, noticing his gap in speech. _I'm making Lord Cutler Beckett squirm?_ The thought of her affecting him in such a way caused a filling of her stomach with something other than nausea, something not unpleasant, really, but odd nonetheless.

Beckett had to make this an honest confession, for if he lied outright to her, she'd never trust his intentions for when they would arrive in the Azores. He had to speak to her as if he was trying to convince _himself_ of this. Because they were more similar than he even wanted to admit. Besides, it wouldn't matter so much that she knew everything, anyway. He'd be rid of her soon enough….

He sighed loudly before beginning to speak.

"Well. The truth is… I never thought we'd cross paths again after I revealed all that I did to you that night…let alone a mere week later. It's, well…" He spoke slowly and clearly, but barely above a whisper, just like he had spoken to Jack aboard the _Endeavour_ regarding Shipwreck Cove. "…well, it's sort of like you have this ammunition… in the form of an actual rare confession from myself, to use against me." He looked off into the distance, avoiding any eye contact with her. "It's a rather odd feeling, because I know of perhaps only three other people who are in your particular position. And two of them happen to be deceased."

"Mercer," she murmured, feeling relieved that perhaps Beckett was capable of being honest with her. That said, it was a wonder that he was explaining himself at all. It was not as if she was threatening him with a pistol, a knife, or a cat o' nine tails. He had confessed this all on his own.

"Correct." He shifted uncomfortably, eyes scanning the brig for the sign of another person, someone who could successfully interrupt.

"Who are the other two?"

"That's not your concern," he snapped, feeling nauseatingly vulnerable. _Hopefully some other pirate will drop in and break up this intense little conversation…_

"And what's worse," he continued haltingly, looking anywhere but directly at her, "is that you are now aware of the power that such a confession from myself yields, and the influence that it has over—"

"Well, now that the air has been cleared, you have no reason to avoid me."

He sighed exasperatingly.

"Now that I've brought all this to light, I have a valid reason to do just that."

"But why would that be? I don't understand—"

"Oh, nevermind," he snapped, his voice sounding raspier than usual.

_Why have I let her into my personal thoughts? This is not territory for anyone to enter, let alone an enemy. What have I done? I'm really in over my head now. She's too naïve to even understand the meaning of all this explanation. What a waste of time this has been…._

"No, I'd really hope that you could explain, because I'm not—"

"Understanding will come with time; not a detailed explanation from me," he replied hastily. "When this happens to you, which it certainly will, you will then understand my reasoning for what I say."

They sat there in silence for what seemed like forever. Elizabeth was lost in thought, and Beckett was feeling fidgety, his eyes constantly darting around the brig. Suddenly, Elizabeth broke the silence, causing Beckett to flinch.

"Can you promise to keep mum on this problem I've been having? I don't want the crew to start feeling sorry for me. So far, you're the only one who knows about this."

He smirked.

"I promise… as long as you promise not to speak with Jack about the Azores. If you so wish, we'll also keep quiet on seeking out the doctor there."

"I don't know why you're so insistent on this, but alright," she said with a smile. "So we have an accord?"

He merely held out his hand, a little grin playing around the corners of his mouth. She grasped his hand with her own and they shook hands, sitting across from each other on the floor of the brig.

* * *

A/N: Please don't read any more into Beckett's "three other people" than is there. That was not my intention. Mercer and the two others merely have in common that they all have heard the true confessions of Beckett. There's no lovey-dovey confession for Elizabeth here, and so please don't assume that there's lovey-dove ones for the others... Alright. Just wanted to clear that up.


	6. Barbossa And Cachalots

A/N: Please don't read deeper into Beckett's "three other people" in the last chapter. That was not my intention. Mercer and the two others merely have in common that they all have heard true confessions from Beckett. There was no lovey-dovey confession for Elizabeth here, and so please don't assume that there's lovey-dove ones for the others... Alright. Just wanted to clear that up.

Thank you for the kind and thoughtful reviews, everyone!

Chapter 6 – Barbossa and Cachalots

Warnings: a curse word, perhaps

* * *

Elizabeth leaned against the gunwale of the _Pearl_, watching the sun rise. The deck was completely silent, save for the barely perceptible sound of soft breathing coming from beside her. Beckett had followed her above deck and now stood beside her, leaning his slight frame against the gunwale as he squinted towards the pink horizon. Apparently the night before, he must have finally shaved off his facial hair, for now in the light, she could see that he looked like himself again. Elizabeth couldn't help but notice that the emerging rays of sun illuminated the new smoothness of his skin.

The unlikely pair stood side by side on the ship until the sun had completely emerged from the surface of the water, pink and orangey clouds extending from each side of the glowing orb, a slight chill in the breeze that occasionally ruffled their hair.

Neither said a word. The peace between them was somehow free from all the tension that had occurred below deck.

Elizabeth's thoughts ran through her mind. _Maybe Beckett really has changed for the better. I can sense that he was indeed telling the truth about why he's been different lately, and I've never doubted that what he said to me that night in Curaçao was the truth, although I had tried to make it seem that I had doubts. I wonder what the doctor in the Azores is going to say about this constant nausea. I hope it isn't anything serious…._

Meanwhile, Beckett's thoughts were of an entirely different nature. _Now that I've won her trust, there's only one thing left to do…. Once we go ashore, that is…._

* * *

It wasn't long before Barbossa appeared above deck, staring at Elizabeth and Beckett in utter confusion. They had been like oil and water these past several weeks, and had now resorted to standing side by side – alone… at daybreak?

Refraining from speaking his mind, Barbossa took the helm, watching the silent understanding between the two former enemies. What had occurred to make them civil to each other, friendly even, when only yesterday they couldn't even be in the same room?

He knew that Beckett had stayed in Elizabeth's cabin for a night a couple of months ago. Elizabeth had nursed him back to health when he was certainly near death. And it was her that went with Jack to stop Beckett's execution. He wasn't certain who was more in favour of returning to Port Royal for the purpose of rescuing Beckett, but the fact that either could have vouched for it was disconcerting enough.

Until now, Beckett had been actively avoiding her, which made sense. _There need be a good reason why he'd do an about-face,_ Barbossa mused. _Fer whate'er reason he's bein' friendly, it's not wrought with good intentions, that's fer sure._

Something definitely seemed suspicious, and he was morbidly curious to know. What exactly was going on? He hated the idea of doing third-party observing until something dreadful happened.

* * *

Soon thereafter Jack stumbled to the main deck. Upon seeing Elizabeth against the gunwale, he approached her, draping an arm across her shoulders. She jerked at the sudden contact, almost tumbling into Beckett, who had to jump out of the way.

"Wot's on your mind, luv? You're up awfully early."

"I couldn't sleep," she replied truthfully. He glanced over at Beckett, suspicion in his gaze.

"I see," Jack said, subtly pulling her away from Beckett, who stood on the other side of her. "An' did it help, watchin' the sun rise?"

"Actually, it did," she replied, feeling a bit of discomfort. This situation was rather odd. _Why does Jack have to be so pushy all the time? Whereas Beckett can stand next to me for an hour and not cross any type of line. Well, of course it has to do with their respective feelings towards me. Jack's intentions are not exactly friendly… whereas Beckett is just… well, aloof, in every sense of the word._

"Lizzie, I've got somethin' to show you," Jack murmured, standing ever so close to her.

She waited. When he didn't make any move, she spoke up, slightly agitated.

"Well, what is it?"

"It's in me cabin."

She crossed her arms, looking at him with eyes narrowed.

"I'm not falling for—"

"Step lively, or you'll miss it!" he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her along.

As the pair retreated to the cabin, Beckett muttered something unspeakably crude# yet did not watch them leave.

Upon seeing that Beckett was now alone, Barbossa soon descended from the quarterdeck and sauntered over to Beckett at the gunwale.

"I've a question fer ye," Barbossa said, leaning his upper body over the railing, looking towards the shorter form of Beckett beside him.

"And what would that be," Beckett replied, looking utterly disinterested, continuing to stare at the horizon.

"Is there somethin' goin' on betwixt Elizabeth an' yerself?"

Suddenly Beckett's curiosity was riled, and he looked at the tall captain, an impish grin crossing his face.

"What would give you that impression," he said blandly, his naughty smirk betraying the dryness of his speech.

"I've jus' noticed that until today, ye two have been avoidin' each other like the Plague, an' now yer both up at daybreak… an' standin' side by side, at that. Ye should be well-aware that Elizabeth is now a married—"

"I am well-aware that she is now Elizabeth _Turner_, thank you," was Beckett's disdainful reply. "It just confounds me to no end why _Mr._ Turner is still not present."

Barbossa hadn't realized just how unaware Beckett was of the situation with Turner, the obligatory new captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. And he wasn't about to reveal anything new. Needless to say, Barbossa was curious as to the nature of this strange association between Beckett and Elizabeth, and how it might affect their relationship with the _Flying Dutchman_ if her captain should become aware of possible flirtation. There was no denying it; the _Pearl_ had many enemies and was in dire need of replenishing weapons, food, crewmembers, as well as in need of reminding other pirate ships of their allegiance. Barbossa knew the importance of retaining such an important ship as the _Dutchman_ as an ally in these difficult times, even if she was now more dedicated to her otherworldly duties.

"He's away on business fer th' time bein'," Barbossa replied, "but ye'd do best to keep yer distance from Mrs. Turner, in case he should arrive without warnin'."

"He can't just materialize into thin air!" Beckett replied. Barbossa looked away, lest his facial expression divulge anything more. _Actually, that's entirely possible_, Barbossa mused, focusing his attention on a land mass a great distance away. The former lord continued speaking quite haughtily. "I daresay if the situation should arise I shall be well-informed of his impending arrival, simply by standing right where I am and observing."

Beckett's response was ambiguous. Was he or wasn't he admitting to some sort of association with Elizabeth?

"So are ye sayin' ye've somethin' to hide fer when Mr. Turner should return?"

"I will leave that up to you to contemplate," Beckett said, moving away from the railing and taking a step away from Barbossa, most likely to head below deck once again.

He was thwarted by Barbossa grabbing his arm, rather forcefully, in fact. Beckett let out a slight hiss of pain as he tried to pull away, but it was no use.

"Listen 'ere, Beckett; there's nothin' keepin' me from tyin' ye to th' anchor an' throwin' ye off the ship right here an' now. So's ye'd do best to heed what I be sayin', lest ye find yerself on the bottom o' the sea fer all eternity."

Beckett let out a little laugh.

"You should first be certain that the ship still possesses an anchor. It's been through an awful lot of strife these past couple of months," he replied, displaying his customary crooked grin.

Barbossa squeezed his arm as tightly as he could, eliciting a grunt from the disgraced former lord.

"Shut yer mouth," the tall captain commanded, "or else I'll commit ye to the sea right here an' now."

"Why are you suddenly so dead-set against me?" Beckett asked him, attempting to wrest back control of his own arm.

Barbossa pulled Beckett in close to him, and stooped nearer to his height.

"Ah, was I not before? Hmm, I happen t' recall 'twas I that made ye cry in front o' the entirety o' the _Pearl_'s crew."

"That was not done on your own volition."

"Ah, is that what ye've chosen to believe? Well, if it'd been me that'd seen ye floatin' on the water like a clump o' seaweed, I'd-a _ensured_ yer demise with a well-placed bullet."

Beckett let out a sigh of exasperation.

"As would anyone else aboard the ship… save for Elizabeth, apparently. However, I'm of the impression that your hatred for me has intensified as of late."

"As one who staged a mutiny an' then captained this very ship fer nigh a decade, I know what it's like to be schemin' up plans to cause the mos' destruction an' to come out on top. So I know that ye be up to no good."

Beckett opened and closed his mouth, but Barbossa beat him to the next word.

"I can understand why ye'd need use o' the _Pearl_ t' escape Port Royal. Ye'd not had another choice at the time. Howe'er, yer newfound comradeship with 'lizabeth after so long an uneasiness bodes ill will fer us all."

The former lord yanked his arm away quite forcefully, finally able to speak with his slightly lengthened distance from the tall pirate captain.

"Mayhap I am simply trying to make the best of a most unpleasant situation," he replied, dusting off the sleeve that had been grabbed.

To Beckett's surprise, Barbossa did not make another move to grab him. Instead, he stared steadily at Beckett.

"I'll be keepin' an eye on ye, an' if I see anythin' that rouses my suspicions, ye'll not have a chance to explain firs'." He stood at his full height, looking rather stately, as Beckett continued to slowly inch away from him. "D'ye understand?"

When Beckett hadn't said anything, Barbossa took a step forward, eliciting a flash of eye contact from the slowly retreating former captive.

"I believe I asked ye a question," Barbossa said, taking another step, moving his hand to his sidearm.

"Yes, I understand," Beckett replied hesitantly. He descended the stairs before Barbossa could do anything else.

_I know he's up to somethin' but I'm not sure what exactly_, Barbossa mused_. I'll ensure he's long-dead before whatever plans he's got up 'is sleeves e'er come to pass._

* * *

Meanwhile, in Jack's cabin, Jack had dragged Elizabeth over to the windows at the stern end of the ship to point out a flat grayish rock with a little raised area extended above the surface of the water. There seemed to be droplets of water spurting from the raised region of the gray expanse.

"What is it?" Elizabeth gaped, staring at the floating mini island with its own water-volcano, apparently. She gaped over at Jack, who was watching her with a bemused expression.

When she turned around again, the gray thing was gone. She gasped, covering her mouth, looking back at Jack again.

"But it was just there—" she began to say.

"See, if we would've waited any longer you would've missed it," he told her, watching her look at him suspiciously.

"What _was_ that?" she said.

They sat down on a bench by the window. The gray thing was long gone, only leaving behind ripples on the surface of the water.

"As much as I'd like to say that was a living island, it was, in fact, a cachalot," he replied.

"Cachalot?"

"Ah. That's the Portuguese word for 'em. They are also referred to as sperm whales. Some sort o' massive fish#," he said dismissively. "Rather huge they are. A man can walk right inside their gaping jaws wivout even duckin'."

"Really." She was obviously in a state of disbelief.

"They've got huge heads, an' enormous teeth," he continued. "Some bein' th' length o' my pistol. An' they have, as you saw, a sort o' blowhole, I believe it's called, atop their head that they breathe through."

"How big are they?" she asked, intrigued by the strange creature.

"Most of 'em dwarf th' _Pearl_ in length," he said matter-of-factly, watching Elizabeth's eyes grow large in response.

"Why did you take me to see it from inside your cabin? We would have easily seen it from the quarter—"

He held a finger up to shush her.

"Mayhap, but it would have been scared outright at seein' our figures suddenly appearin' in such a conspicuous location."

"Ah," she said, though finding that hard to believe. How silly it was for something larger than the _Pearl_ to be scared of two tiny humans.

"When did you get to see them close-up?" she asked him.

Jack hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to explain.

"There was a point in me past when I hunted 'em off th' coast of Pico Island."

The question suddenly arose in her head, hanging over her like a ton of bricks. _What is Jack's problem with the Azores?_ Beckett had been so insistent on her not mentioning anything to Jack, but how would Beckett have come by the information without herself doing so as well? Why was this information being purposely kept from her? She felt a tinge of jealousy over the two enemies sharing this secret that she had no part in. Jack had mentioned Pico Island to her without a moment's thought, so why shouldn't he be willing to continue to divulge?

Jack looked a bit uncomfortable, and tried to spot the animal again out the window of his cabin, all the while Elizabeth watched him carefully. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Jack."

He turned to look at her, his face showing uneasiness.

"What did you do in the Azores?"

His face flashed shock for a moment, and then returned to one of moderate discomfort.

"Wot do you mean by that, luv?" he asked her incredulously.

She had to be more careful with how she phrased things. It would be destructive if she made it seem that she knew more than she was supposed to.

"You've been there before, as you just now said. What was it like there?"

_Stupid question_, she mused. _Now he's going to give me a stupid answer._

"Fine it was. Rather pleasant climate. Much more so than our last destination," he said, fishing for words.

_I was correct. Really stupid response. Well, here goes nothing…_

"Why didn't we go there first then?"

His eyes reflected suspicion, darting about the dimmed cabin as if Beckett was hiding somewhere.

"Well, it's a well-used trade route," he said after several silent seconds of consideration.

"Then why are we going there now?" she replied quickly.

"Wot's wiv all th' questions all of a sudden?" he said, chuckling nervously.

"Well, we're on our way there now, and I hadn't realized you'd been there before, is all. I was just wondering what it's like, because I myself have never been to the Azores before."

_Uh oh_. How stupid she had been, to immediately connect Pico Island to the Azores and then to admit that she had never been there!

"Lovely place. Puts the last place to shame in every respect o' th' word, it does." He paused, looking at her intensely. "But then, how would you know that Pico Island is a part of the Azores unless…."

His expression of sheepishness and discomfort immediately darkened to one of anger.

_Oh, God, _Elizabeth mused, her throat constricting._ I've really gone and done it now._

* * *

#Note: I actually had a real retort from Beckett here, but decided that it was unspeakably crude.

#Note: a sperm whale is not actually a fish; it is a mammal. But Jack's not aware of that. He's naught but a humble pirate…


	7. Overboard

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! This here is a very long chapter! I think it's more than 5000 words. Well… hope you like it:-)

Chapter 7 - Overboard

Warnings: some innuendos, tha's about it

* * *

"So, how do you know about Pico Island?" Jack asked Elizabeth, obviously upset. She fished for the right thing to say, though it would have to be a lie.

"I must have read about it in a book at some point, and made the connection," she replied, feigning disinterest.

"Ah," he replied, his face no longer twisted in anger.

_That was so close_, she mused.

"When will we be arriving?" she ventured to ask, hoping that her voice wasn't shaking.

"We still have a few days' travel, I do believe," he replied, the suspicion in his eyes betraying the coolness of his speech.

"Good," Elizabeth replied curtly, folding her hands on her lap.

"Lizzie," Jack managed to say. She looked up at the captain, hoping her eyes didn't convey her fear. It couldn't be true what Beckett said about Jack turning around; could it? She had betrayed his trust… not that there was much trust to betray; but her insatiable curiosity and a tinge of jealousy had temporarily blurred her sense of reasoning.

"What?" she said, after a period of uncomfortable silence, her eyes instantly revealing everything to Jack. _Bloody Beckett mentioned my problem to her_. He was simultaneously disgusted at Beckett and intrigued by this fear in Elizabeth.

"I know wot's goin' on," he said, watching her expression turn from that of uneasiness to that of utter fright. She did not wish to speak in return, lest her response give away any more.

"Beckett tried to pry you for information, eh? It's a wonder someone as stupid as him climbed th' ranks so effectively, wot wiv his complete an' utter inability to listen."

She stayed silent.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Lizzie, but it seems that Beckett has chosen to disembark early from th' _Pearl_."

Elizabeth did not wish for this to happen. Beckett was the one who knew about the doctor she could go to! She had to keep him around, at least for that! Right?

"No, it's quite alright," she replied. "I will ask no further questions on the subject. Whatever issue you have with the Azores is yours and yours alone."

"As much as I hate to jus' dump twenty-five thousand pounds into th' sea, it should have been done ages ago. Besides, it would be rather sad o' the hearty crew of th' _Black Pearl_ to be needful of such a lowly sum."

"Really, Jack; it's not needed to be done."

"Wot's your purpose for 'im now? He's apologized for 'is trespasses against you, an' you've exacted your revenge—quite successfully, I might add."

She fell silent. Other than for the doctor visit, she had no other explanation for Jack to keep Beckett aboard. She didn't want Jack to know about her health issues, though. It was bad enough that Beckett knew. Elizabeth was not the kind of person who wanted to be pitied, and waited on hand and foot like in her youth. And that's just what Jack would do if he found out about her condition.

"He didn't mean to arouse my suspicion over it—"

"We e'en saved 'im from execution, Lizzie! An' this is how he repays us, by blatantly disobeyin' me?"

"What exactly did you say to him?"

Jack waved an arm dismissively.

"That matters not. Wot matters is that I told 'im to keep 'is mouth shut. An' he did not listen."

"Why is this such a concern for you? I won't say anymore. The issue is dead. Why send him to his death over something so trivial?"

"I didn' say death exactly. Maroonin' him on an island would work jus' as well."

She crossed her arms defensively.

"It's mostly my fault that he mentioned such a thing. You needn't take it out on him."

_Wot th' bloody hell is goin' on between these two? This relationship is the mos' unsettlin' thing I've ever dealt wiv, an' that's sayin' somethin'. Sure, she'll be angry wiv me once she notices he's gone, but she'll recover soon enough from his departure, an' then it'll be jus' me an' her again. Besides, we've only a very meager supply of food now. He'll be one less mouth to feed._

* * *

As Elizabeth slept in her cabin that night, Jack carried two pairs of shackles, a gag, his sword, and a pistol to where Beckett would most likely be sleeping. He did not find him in the forecastle, though he was introduced to Pintel's most odd way of sleeping with an eye open. It was then that he proceeded to enter the brig. Beckett was sound asleep in a hammock, sort of on his side so that the pressure was taken off the still sensitive skin of his backside.

He approached the unconscious man, noticing that both of his hands were curled up under his face, each clasping the other. Beckett's legs were bent at the knee and were angled the same way, ankles resting against each other. _This is goin' to be too easy_, he mused, slipping a shackle around one of the sleeping man's ankles. The resulting click, though causing a sharp intake of breath from Jack, did not cause Beckett to stir. Tonight Beckett slept like the dead, not a good trait to have at any point on a pirate ship. After the one shackle had been fastened the other leg was relatively easy to shackle.

Jack followed the leg shackling by slipping one of the cuffs around a slender wrist, and clicking it on securely. Beckett's limbs had all been shackled shortly thereafter, and him, not even awake yet!

When it came time to apply the gag, upon the laying of the fabric of Jack's bandanna gently against Beckett's lips, Beckett stirred, breathing loudly and trying to use a hand to swipe away the ticklish fabric. It was then that realization hit that he had been shackled, and he awoke.

Immediately Beckett shouted unintelligibly and tried in vain to move his limbs, losing his balance from the hammock in the process. He fell from the hammock with a loud thud like a sack of potatoes, Jack watching amused close nearby, his pistol at the ready.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Beckett said demandingly, searching the dim light for whoever had done him the disservice of shackling him immobile.

"I've decided that you've overstayed your welcome," Jack said in reply, his voice low.

"And why would that be? Did Barbossa put you up to this?" he spat, rage building. He remembered the tense exchange that had occurred earlier between him and the older captain.

"No, that he did not. Wot would make you suspect him of this?"

Beckett didn't feel like explaining. He had been robbed of a good night's rest and was now very cranky. Immediately he thought of something snotty to say.

"Well, because you take all your orders from him." It was an untrue statement, yet it definitely struck a chord in Jack, who automatically frowned.

"I've decided this on my own accord," he retorted.

"Since when did _you_ ever have an idea that wasn't based on someone else's idea," Beckett said in a deadpan tone, though loudly.

"I'd have to say… now, actually," Jack replied. He grabbed Beckett by the ankle shackles and began yanking him towards the ladder. Beckett held on to the grating stubbornly with shackled hands, completely preventing Jack from making any headway.

"So I take it that you wish to stay aboard the _Pearl_?" Jack shot disdainfully, releasing his hold on Beckett's ankle shackles. Beckett's hands remained gripping the grating, and he glared back at the pirate captain.

"Only until we've made berth," was Beckett's reply. "Why the sudden insistence for my leave? Are you _jealous_?"

"An' jus' wot would I be jealous of?"

"You know very well," he replied, referring of course to the newly repaired relationship between him and Elizabeth. That's what this was all about; the scene this morning. The fact that the usually uninvolved Barbossa was so worked up over this new development strongly hinted to an even greater emotional involvement for Jack. Beckett used his arms to pull his body towards the grating, and heaved himself to a seated position, leaning his back against the grating. _I can't rile up Jack too much over this, though, because then I'll never be able to be alone with Elizabeth once we disembark_. He considered a bit longer. _However… if I absolutely infuriate him over this, he'll take things out on Elizabeth, and his relationship with Elizabeth will change – for the worse – which can only work in my favour. She'll then see what an emotional wreck he really is, and perhaps even confide in me about his shortcomings. Of which there are certainly many. _

"Do I?" Jack replied, venom in his tone.

"You are jealous of the relationship between Elizabeth and myself," he told the captain matter-of-factly, watching his expression carefully from his position on the ground.

Jack's entire jawbone seemed to drop, and his eyes changed from the usual merry appearance to one decidedly more sinister.

"Wot relationship?" Jack spat. "All I can see is that you were stupid enough to inform her of th' issue I have wiv the Azores. An' now you're goin' to pay. Can't say I didn' warn you, mate."

_Elizabeth broke her promise…._ Immediately upon hearing of Elizabeth's treachery, Beckett seethed with anger. It hadn't taken Elizabeth long to go back on her promise to keep his admission a secret. How long had it taken her to divulge? An hour or so from his telling her? Seconds ago, he was prepared to spout all sorts of lovely compliments about her to further incense Jack, and now he couldn't remember a single positive thing about her, contrived or no.

But really, though, where was the whole Jack's-problem-with-the-Azores thing going to get him, in the end? It was a really stupid issue to hold over Elizabeth's head, not while he had this unlikely relationship with her to hold over Jack. Beckett was customary to immediately get over problems, and this would be no different. He wasn't about to begrudge Elizabeth over this. And there was no way he was ever going to tell Jack about Elizabeth's state of health.

"I don't mind," Beckett replied, his face and voice calm as ever, feeling his anger dissipate. "In fact, I could care less."

"Right. When in fact, it _bothered_ you to no end realizin' your lack o' knowledge on th' subject. Troubled you it did that no one in th' Royal Navy even bothered t' inform you."

"It's a dead issue, one that does not directly concern me. Anyway, where were we?" He touched his chin thoughtfully with the index fingers of his shackled-together hands. "Ah, yes, the issue of your uncontrolled jealousy over the nature of the relationship—"

"You foolishly assume that 'cause you let your guard down not once, but twice, in revealin' such heavy information to her an' then _not_ dyin' immediately afterwards, that you two are now close. Rather stupid assumption, I must tell you. Trust is not to be trifled wiv, 'specially in regards to Lizzie."

Beckett raised an eyebrow.

"Are you saying she is not to be trusted?" he asked quietly, barely above a whisper, as if repeating something dreadful.

"You may take my words as you will. I'm jus' informin' you that although she may appear a wide-eyed innocent, she knows how to take advantage of others. An' I mean that in th' kindest an' mos' respectful way," he said quietly, his eyes darting around the darkened brig. He ended his statement with a toothy smile.

"And how is it that you have come by this most unfortunate knowledge," Beckett questioned.

"Let's jus' say that I have been a frequent victim of her charms."

"I see." The former lord sounded bored.

There was a lag in conversation as Beckett folded his legs beneath him and gripped the remains of intact grating with shackled hands in an attempt to stand up.

"An' wot do you think you're doin'?" Jack said, at seeing that Beckett was trying to stand.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing," Beckett responded sighingly.

"Apparently hastenin' your removal from th' ship," Jack said, taking out the sword from its scabbard on his belt. "Saves me th' trouble of liftin' you up."

* * *

Elizabeth tossed and turned in bed, her conscience bothering her. She had broken her promise to Beckett and felt incredibly guilty for doing so. Even though the ship hadn't changed direction, which she was certain it wouldn't, the fact was, Beckett had very strongly objected to her mentioning anything to Jack. Now the nausea was coming in waves, and it wasn't even morning yet! _Maybe I should just clear the air with Beckett before Jack gets to him and tells him. After all, I do not want Beckett revealing my weakened state of health to anyone. _

She tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. Although Beckett had once been her mortal enemy, she felt guilty about betraying his trust, when she had entrusted her own secrets to him. She decided to traverse to the brig and see if Beckett was awake. Anything was possible, really.

After lighting a candle, Elizabeth walked to her door, hearing her bare feet padding softly on the wood boards of the cabin floor. And yet, there was another sound as well. A heavy metallic sound, like chains being dragged across the floor. She immediately blew out the candle and decided to investigate under the cover of darkness.

Elizabeth opened her door only a crack to hear two men's voices.

"Are you actually going to throw me overboard tonight?" a male voice boomed rather loudly and insistently.

A pleasant male laugh followed, along with the jangling of chains once again.

"The fact that you plan to throw me overboard _right now_ has led me to the belief that no one else aboard has consented to this," the first man said, his voice loud but monotone.

Beckett glanced briefly at Elizabeth's cabin. _Please wake up_, he mused, hoping that she'd hear his blow-by-blow announcements of what was to occur. Unless the tack had changed in the last several hours, the ship was not close enough to any major land mass for him to capably go ashore.

Jack shoved Beckett towards the ladder on the gun deck. He had forced Beckett to leave the brig, and all it had taken was a well-positioned sword. _Apparently Beckett still hopes to have children someday_, Jack had mused, as Beckett uncomfortably made his way to the gun deck.

After Beckett made his second loud announcement of what was to come, Jack couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I see wot you're tryin' to do, but it's not goin' to work. Even if Lizzie was awake at th' moment, wot purpose are you to her now?"

The pirate captain recalled Elizabeth's opposition to his ridding the ship of Beckett, but of course Beckett didn't have to know that. And besides, she hadn't responded when Jack had asked her what Beckett's purpose now was. He _didn't_ have a purpose now, really, except a mild monetary one. But that could be forsaken.

Beckett could not reveal anything about Elizabeth's chronic nausea, so he could not reply that his purpose was in keeping any sort of secret, though that would enrage Jack in and of itself.

"Is it necessary that I have a specific purpose?" Beckett answered. "What's your take on Barbossa's purpose on the ship?"

Jack flashed him a look of irritation.

"Barbossa has 'is own purposes aboard th' ship, more so for some than for others. However, I fail to deduce wot advantages your existence could have for anyone on th' _Pearl_."

"You would not be pleased if you were aware the advantages my presence brings to a certain member of this ship," he said almost in a whisper, a naughty grin spreading across his face. "However, my continued existence aboard this ship will be short-lived; that can be assured," Beckett shot back in reply, his voice low and calm.

"Aye, done as of tonight!" Jack exclaimed angrily yet triumphantly, his voice louder than he had wished for it to be.

Elizabeth's cabin door fully opened at Jack's loud exclamation, and she appeared on the gun deck, her hair cascading in tumbles, her hair having been let down, as it was revealed that she was wearing a long nightgown and carrying an extinguished candle.

Jack and Beckett both held their breath as she appeared in front of them, looking cross, her feet bare as she strode across the floor of the gun deck.

"Hello, Lizzie," Jack finally managed to say, slightly lowering his sword from somewhere low on Beckett's body.

"What are you doing?" she asked the pair, seeing Beckett in chains and Jack behind him, holding something behind his prisoner.

Beckett spoke up.

"Jack is preparing to throw me overboard," he said matter-of-factly.

She turned to Jack.

"Why's that, Jack?" she asked the captain.

"Do I really need a reason to toss someone off me own ship?" Jack retorted.

The resulting eye roll and scowl from Elizabeth made him sigh and make an explanation, even though it wasn't needed. It_ was_ his ship, after all. Well, his and Barbossa's….

"After I had explicitly told 'im not to mention my issue to anyone, he chose to disobey me. An' so now he's goin' to have to suffer th' consequences."

Her face flushed with shame at Jack's revealing to Beckett what she had done. This consequence for Beckett was the reason Beckett had been so adamant on her not mentioning anything to Jack. Why hadn't he just told her what Jack had threatened? Well, obviously he was now aware that she had broken her promise. A fresh surge of guilt flooded her. She had hoped to explain to him what she had insinuated before Jack could get to him, to cushion the blow.

She looked over at Beckett, who was staring at her intensely, his eyes not filled with anger as Jack's had been earlier, but instead were pleading with her. Her stomach hollowed at the sight of his haunted stare. She was guilty of breaking this promise—and now he was _pleading_ with her, even though he was aware of this fact! Why was he not shooting her a venomous glare? It would have made her feel more at ease than she did now. She felt strangely protective of him in this pitiful state.

"Surely Beckett also wants to leave the ship," she said, looking to Jack. "Why not just wait until we arrive in the Azores? That cannot be more than a couple of days' travel from here—"

"An' follow his wishes? Don' you think that blatant disobedience is deservin' of punishment? I can recall not too long ago you were willin' to—"

"Yes, disobedience is deserving of punishment," she said carefully, avoiding Beckett's intense gaze, "but certainly it's not deserving of what you're about to do."

"An' wot do _you_ propose be done instead?" he said, walking towards her, leaving Beckett by the stairs to the main deck, his hands and feet shackled together.

Jack strode right up to her, his body less than a foot away from her own. Expertly he struck a match against his belt and relit the candle in her hands. She crossed her arms across her chest, looking at the captain. Suddenly, Jack pushed Elizabeth back into her cabin, only keeping the door open a creak, to check up on Beckett occasionally.

"Isn't there some sort of less permanent way you can teach him his lesson?" she murmured to Jack, her expression serious.

"Lizzie, that sort of thing is not like me," he explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "Unless you yourself would be willin' to administer some other sort o' punishment, I'm afraid this is his only option. I told 'im wot would happen if he disobeyed, an' he still chose to do so…."

_Now I will be informed of how close these two really are_, Jack mused._ If she consents to punishin' him, it's either because they are close or because she wants to prove to me that they are not. If she does not offer to do so… well, he'll be gone anyway._

Elizabeth was torn. _Should I offer another option? It may be the difference between life and death for Beckett. And I am indebted to him, being as he did save my life. Then I went and broke my promise after all that. But what can be done to him?_

She pondered for a bit, and then came up with an idea. _Not original, exactly, but it may well have to do. I cannot for the life of me think of anything else._

"Would another flogging suffice?"

Jack's eyes suddenly became wide in pure astonishment.

"You'd be willin' to flog him… after all that happened las' time?"

"Well, I'd hope it'd prove to you that I'm not becoming overly softhearted as you probably already suspect," she replied, a smirk on her face.

He gave her a smile, his nerves finally at ease. _She is actually serious about this… but I should ask again, jus' to be certain. If this is true, well… the fact that she's willin' to do this for him does suggest somethin' may be goin' on, but the fact that she has nothin' to lose from floggin' him makes me think otherwise. Now, if _she_ agreed to be flogged as well as him in order to keep 'im from bein' thrown overboard, I'd suspect somethin' more's definitely goin' on. Maybe she still feels guilty 'cos he saved her life an' then she turned around an' ratted on 'im. Yeah, that makes sense…_

"So rather than him bein' tossed overboard, you're willin' to flog 'im for his disobedience to me?"

"Yes. I am disgusted that he did not obey your wishes—after all you've done for him."

Jack was so overcome, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She had said the perfect thing. Instead, he resisted, and stuck out his hand.

"What's that for?" she asked, staring at his hand quizzically.

"We are agreein' to this revision, are we not?" was his reply.

A subtle smile on her face, she proceeded to shake the hand of yet another man aboard the _Black Pearl_.

* * *

"When shall you be carrying out said punishment?" Jack questioned, peering out the crack of Elizabeth's slightly ajar cabin door to see Beckett shuffling around on the gun deck, his wrists and ankles still shackled together. Jack continued. "I recommend doing so tomorrow, being as we will be reaching our destination shortly. No tellin' how much longer th' prig'll be wiv us after that point."

"Tomorrow's fine," she said. "However, I would prefer not to carry out the punishment on deck again in front of others. That sort of punishment only made him more arrogant. He seemed to learn much more from the later punishment in the brig, if you'll recall."

Jack's stomach squirmed, reminding him of his earlier feelings about the public flogging and Beckett's very public breakdown. It was true that what had occurred above deck did not instill humility or respect in Beckett. What happened later had definitely been the beginning of the change within their captive. Elizabeth had broken Beckett then. And well, Jack really didn't want to watch the whole lashing, sniveling thing again….

"Very well. Will you be carryin' it out in th' brig then?"

"Yes," she replied confidently.

It had been settled. Jack and Elizabeth left her cabin, approaching Beckett, who was still in shackles.

Jack took out some keys and unshackled Beckett's wrists and ankles. He stood there, staring down at the top of Jack's head as Jack unshackled his ankles, looking up at Elizabeth to see no readable expression on her face.

"What's going on?" Beckett asked, feeling rather confused at present. He had expected her to save him from being thrown overboard, but never expected it to go as far as release from his restraints. Jack stood up, shackles in hand.

"You're goin' to be flogged as punishment, rather than bein' thrown off th' ship."

Beckett was intrigued by this new development.

"And who is going to be administering this punishment, may I ask," he managed to say, rubbing his wrists where the shackles had been cutting into the skin.

Jack suddenly looked uncomfortable, shifting back and forth on his feet.

"That would be me," Elizabeth replied. Jack glanced at her as she spoke, afterwards turning to Beckett to observe his immediate response.

Although Beckett's expression did not convey excitement or happiness, there was something about the corner of his mouth that said more than Beckett would have wanted to admit, or that Jack wanted to know.

_I must be seein' things_, Jack mused, looking back to Elizabeth, who now seemed almost ethereal as she stood by candlelight in her nightgown. Jack was glad that he had lit the candle for her, if only to take in this view. _There's no way Beckett could have enjoyed bein' beatin' into such a pitiful state. 'Course, it _was_ Elizabeth doin' so…_

Elizabeth exchanged glances with Beckett, who couldn't read the stoic expression on her face. The odd upturned curve of his lip fell back to seriousness in his confusion. _My wounds haven't even healed completely from last time_, he mused, feeling a surge of anxiety. _Well, at least drowning isn't going to be an option for tonight…._

Jack stole a quick peek at Beckett, whose expression was now what he would expect: concern, mixed with a bit of uncertainty. _Jus' wot I thought; he's worried, as he should be._

"Well, we should be transportin' him somewhere secure durin' th' course of th' night," Jack said, stepping towards Beckett. "However, I do recall the sad state of the cell in th' brig. Perhaps we should chain 'im to th—"

"You needn't do so," Elizabeth said, looking directly at Beckett. Jack flashed her a look of incredulity, but she was still staring at his prisoner. She continued explaining. "By the way he was carrying on out here earlier, he has no intention of wanting to go overboard… at least for tonight."

"Lizzie," Jack said, grabbing her arm, moving his face close to her own, his voice suddenly becoming very soft. She gaped at him, surprised at his insistence.

"This sort of overnight arrangement will not allow for our agreement to be carried out—"

"I can assure you that he's not going to try to escape," she said, interrupting him and looking at Beckett. "We're much too far away from any shore for him to ever survive abandoning ship."

She wasn't exactly sure of the truth of her statement, but it sounded confident enough to convince Jack—and perhaps Beckett as well. It was too dark for them to actually see anything from above deck at this point, so her word might possibly suffice.

Beckett glanced at her using his peripheral vision, his face twisted with bewilderment. Was she actually putting her trust in the notion that he'd obey her wishes?

After Jack's eyes darted back and forth between her and Beckett, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he decided to retire for the evening.

* * *

Once Jack had left but before Elizabeth had retreated back into her cabin, Beckett approached her quite haughtily, clasping his hands behind his back in a stately fashion. She had had her back turned to him and was just opening her door when he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Am I to believe that I am not going to be secured in the brig for the time being?" he asked her, causing her to turn around to face him.

"Isn't that what I just told Jack?" she retorted, shooting a haughty glance back.

"I find it hard to fathom your faith in my obedience." He strode around to her side, keeping his hands behind him, the gold trim of his ruined velvet coat gleaming in the candlelight.

"I just prevented you from being thrown off the ship. Your earlier announcements led me to the assumption that you don't want to die just yet. So I expect that you won't be jumping overboard any time soon."

A pang of guilt struck her. Surely he was going to bring up the unfortunate fact that she had betrayed him…

"Well, now that I am unshackled, I have more of a chance of surviving, if I do so choose to slip away in the night."

"Ha! Likely! It'll be easy to spot you out there in the water," she said.

"How so?" _This should be good_, he mused.

"We'll just look for encircling seagulls, diving down occasionally to feed upon your waterlogged corpse," she replied matter-of-factly, flashing a morbid smile.

"Ugh, how revolting."

"You asked."

Elizabeth was disgusted at the prospect that Beckett had most likely told Jack about her nausea problem, but Jack's not mentioning it had made her feel odd. Maybe he had forgotten in the heat of the moment, arguing with her over Beckett's fate.

"I expect to see you here tomorrow, to accept to your punishment like a man," Elizabeth said, turning back around and pushing open the door to her cabin, feeling a strange twinge at saying such a thing to a man older than herself. She glanced around the gun deck suspiciously, hoping Jack had since slunk off to bed, and then looked at Beckett. He just stood there, arms at his sides, looking surprisingly awkward and lost, a very rare side of him to see.

Elizabeth shut her cabin door behind her, leaning back against it with a sigh, as it clicked shut.

_That was close_, she thought, looking about her cabin. _I need Beckett, at least for the time being, to bring me to this doctor. My entire body has been feeling odd these past several weeks. It's probably something quite serious, and with him gone, I'd have to confide in someone else, something I really don't want to have to do. It's bad enough that he knows. I wonder if he said something to Jack, being as he now knows that I didn't keep my side of the promise…._

She extinguished the candle and crept back into bed, suddenly aware that she had worn her nightgown in front of two men that had made her oddly uncomfortable several moments in time. And now, yet another time.

* * *

A/N: So I was wondering; would you guys like little snippets of previews from the chapter to come? I do like when authors do that sort of thing, because it gives you a little hint of what may happen next. If you would indeed like this, I will have them for most chapters, when I am ahead of myself. I will include one as a sort of example.

Chapter 8: _Suddenly she was smiling at him, feeling only good thoughts and, daresay, a twinge of pity for this man sitting on the bed next to her._


	8. Visitation

A/N: Thanks for your feedback, everyone! I think I'll stick to having preview snippets then…

Chapter 8 - Visitation

Warnings: mentionin's of sickness again

* * *

Early the next morning Elizabeth awoke feeling worse than she had felt since her nausea spells had begun. Her head swam with dizziness as her stomach lurched and gurgled, causing her to sit straight up in bed with a start.

She clutched her abdomen with clammy fingers, trying to soothe her stomach by speaking to it in soft tones.

"Come on, stomach; calm down. You're going to get through this without doing anything crazy, right?" She stroked the skin of her abdomen, leaning her back against the wooden headboard of her bed, half tempted to fetch a pail but not wanting to move.

Her stomach looked oddly bloated and filled, even though food had been scarce for more than a month now, but she was more concerned about the sickening feeling it was causing deep within her.

_Oh, no. Something's actually going to come of it this time; I can sense it._ She searched frantically over the floor for sign of a decent-sized container, though she knew better than to even bother. She had nothing of the sort in her cabin.

There she sat upon her bed, nightgown drawn up over her belly, and blankets covering up to her hips. Her hands remained resting on her subtly rounded abdomen, kneading the soft flesh beneath it, as she prayed this episode would pass.

* * *

Eventually Elizabeth attempted to lie back down, but the waves of nausea impeded her effort. She moaned in disgust at the situation she was in, sitting back up and beginning to rock slowly back and forth, moaning in a monotone all the while. She now had chills, and her teeth were chattering, producing an odd sound when she moaned.

Suddenly the door opened, and someone appeared at the door, shutting it very quietly behind himself.

"Who's there?" she ventured to say, peering into the darkness of the room.

The person came closer. She reached haltingly for the pistol that was under her pillow, but felt another surge of nausea and froze in place.

"Stop or I'll shoot," she threatened, hearing her teeth chattering all the while.

The person struck a match, and lit a candle that was being held. In the dim candlelight she could make out her morning visitor as none other than Cutler Beckett. He was wearing his linen shirt and breeches, but was not wearing his frockcoat or waistcoat. He looked much the way he looked when he had first begun changing for the better, having at that time taken off his wig and welcoming the idea of working aboard the ship.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, her voice wrought with anxiety.

"I thought I heard something, and I wanted to check up on… things," he replied, holding the candle low as to shadow his face. He caught a glimpse of the bare flesh of her abdomen and felt an odd twinge to have seen such a thing.

He saw the sweat beaded on her brow and could hear her teeth chattering, and knew that she was ailing again.

Surprisingly to Elizabeth –and probably to himself as well— he came closer in spite of this, one hand holding the lit candle, the other one moving to his pocket.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a hissed whisper. She hastily pulled the blanket up over her exposed belly.

"I've got something that may help you," he replied, keeping his voice low but not whispering.

"You've got to stay quiet! Jack would kill you if he knew you were here. I have to punish you later on today. How is this going to look?"

Talking to Beckett had temporarily gotten Elizabeth's mind off of her nausea.

"It's still quite early," he said, now whispering. "No one else is awake. I am certain no one saw me enter your cabin."

"But what if they _had_ seen—"

"You needn't worry about it," he replied hastily. "I entered your room on my own volition, not yours. But never mind that. How are you feeling?"

The concerned look on his face confused her to no end. _Why is he doing this, when later on today he's going to be flogged—by me, of all people? Maybe he feels guilty about revealing my sickness to Jack, and so wants to get to me first, just like I had tried to do with him. _

"Did you tell Jack about me?" she questioned, watching his response. He blinked, but his expression did not change.

"About what?"

"About… this ailment," she replied, continuing to rock back and forth, starting to feel sick again merely for mentioning it again.

"No. Why would I do that?" he replied, sounding sincere enough.

"You mean, you didn't reveal that information to him?"

"No."

She looked suspicious. "Are you telling the truth? I'm not going to hold it against you if you told him, being as you found out that I—"

"I didn't tell him anything." He gave her a big smile, and put his hand to his mouth as if he was buttoning his lips together. "Your secret is safe with me."

She looked up at Beckett, who was now standing by the bed, her teeth chattering and hands wandering back down to her belly, as she began speaking. The shame she felt was almost overwhelming at the moment.

"Right," she said, not convinced.

"Well, it'd be rather easy to prove. Ask anyone aboard about your condition, and no one will have any idea what you're babbling about."

Her look of suspicion faded into one of shame.

"I am so sorry to have let it slip," she stammered. "I did not mean to. I am not one to break promises willfully. It's just, Jack mentioned Pico Island and then I made the automatic connection with that and Azores. My curiosity got the best of me. Something really bad must have happened there, for him to be so resolute on no one finding out."

Beckett then spoke. Elizabeth immediately sucked in a breath, expecting him to begin berating her for her untrustworthiness.

"I wonder if he realizes that the hush-hush way he's going about this is only piquing curiosity about what occurred there," he said. "You watch; it's probably nothing worth noting." _However, my problem there is a rather big deal. She was probably the only woman I've ever really loved…. And I wasn't even totally aware of that fact until _after_ she died._

Half a minute passed in silence, Elizabeth just waiting for him to begin scolding her over the broken promise.

Elizabeth was perplexed at his silence. _He's not going to say anything more? Why is he not berating me over this! What's going on? He probably realizes that by saying nothing he's making me feel even worse about what I did._

She laid her head back against the headboard, groaning from another sickening squishing of her stomach and the feeling of its contents rising in her throat. Had Beckett really not said anything? She believed it more and more every second. If he had told Jack, then surely Jack would have been checking up on her already. It was amazing: Beckett, upon finding out that she had broken her promise, had not spitefully done it right back to her. He had kept his word. Was he truly a better person than she was?

* * *

Beckett watched Elizabeth in this pitiful state with a concerned seriousness about him, one that possessed no arrogance or mischief, just concern.

Suddenly he sat down on the edge of the bed by her side. She flashed him an incredulous look but he remained seated, reaching in his pocket with his left hand. Again she weakly tried to reach behind her for her pistol. _He's going to shoot me; I just know it. Or maybe he'll slit my throat, a much quieter alternative. _The nausea was simply too intense for her to actually retrieve her firearm, so she could only watch in horror as he pulled something small from his pocket.

It was a tawny-colored lumpy root. He held it on the palm of his hand, a little smirk playing across his mouth, his eyes glittering.

"What is that?" she moaned quietly, gripping her abdomen, feeling a ticklish bead of sweat dripping off the tip of her nose.

"It's ginger," he replied matter-of-factly, scooting closer to her and putting the candle down on the bedside table. She was taken aback. _Is he going to poison me?_

"It's a very popular… and very effective remedy for nausea," he continued, watching her with those glittering eyes.

"Where did you get it?" she replied cautiously.

"I found it amongst the stores in the hold whilst I was organizing it. After you told me of your plight I thought it would be helpful. There are only a few roots left, but—"

"Why in God's name would we have _that_ aboard the ship?" she replied.

"Seasickness," he said, shrugging, but his tone confident. It made perfect sense. Many a pirate suffered from the unfortunate ailment, and keeping a remedy for it close by was a very smart thing to do.

"Here," he said, taking the hand that she had on her abdomen and placing the root in it, his dry warm hand holding the back of her cold clammy one as he did so. She stared at the ugly thing, sitting in the palm of her hand, looking much like a hard deformed potato.

"What do I do with it?" she said, examining it as she wiped her sweaty brow with her other hand.

"You take a bite of it," he said, remaining seated ever so close to her.

"Are you trying to poison me?" she asked, realizing how stupid the question was.

He let out a single dry chuckle. "If I had wanted to kill you, don't you think I would have done so when all I had to do was simply stand where I was above deck, and watch it occur, while remaining utterly blameless all the while?"

She remembered her rescue, of Beckett lunging at her to knock her out of the cannonball's path. It would have been easy for him to just stay where he was and let her die, which would have been certain. The gunwale she had been kneeling behind had been obliterated.

"Alright," she said cautiously. She examined the ginger root for another moment and then put it in her mouth, biting a chunk off it and chewing it slowly, a thoughtful look on her face all the while. He watched her, though not intensely enough as to arouse suspicion. She finished chewing up the root and looked up at him a moment before swallowing the finely ground-up pieces.

She held the remaining root out to him, causing him to shake his head.

"No. You keep it here, and eat some each morning."

"How is it that you know so much about ginger?" she ventured to ask.

His face reddened noticeably, namely his ears, as he looked about the darkened cabin, the candle the only light. When she said no more, obviously expecting him to answer, he sighed and then responded to her question.

"I suffer from seasickness… chronically," his eyes becoming downcast. This greatly embarrassed him to admit; that she could easily tell.

"You never seemed to be nauseated bef—"

"My crew on the _Endeavour_ always knew to carry ample supply of ginger for such occasions. I drank ginger tea daily to prevent its occurrence. It only took me one or two instances of nausea early on in my sailing career to realize that I suffered from such an unfortunate ailment. And so, until I was brought aboard the _Pearl_, my seasickness was never an issue."

"I see." Suddenly she was smiling at him, feeling only good thoughts and, daresay, a twinge of pity for this man sitting on the bed next to her.

"But wait," she interjected, "you said there are only a few roots left. What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I'll manage," he replied calmly. "We are close enough to our destination for it to not be a major problem."

"I may not even need to go to the doctor, if this happens to work!" she exclaimed, her psyche telling her that the ginger was already helping.

_I was afraid of this_, he mused. He leaned towards her, eyes widened. Involuntarily he laid his hand upon her leg, not even realizing that he had done so.

"No, you should still go, because there may be a more sinister underlying cause for the nausea. You don't want to merely treat the symptoms without further examining the cause, do you?"

He was right. She needed to understand why she was feeling sick like this. He was… touching her. And yet it wasn't all bad… at least for the moment. Odd.

"I'll still go to the doctor there," she replied, hoping he'd remove his hand. "Besides, I think a bit of going ashore will be good for me anyhow, and obviously, it's good for you." She said the last part a bit teasingly, nudging his backside seated on the bed with the side of her outstretched leg. His face, which had been restored to its normal colour after his confession of seasickness, once again reddened, even more so than before. He closed his eyes, obviously mortified, and removed his hand from her leg.

"I'm sorry," she replied good-naturedly. "I won't mention it again. I can see it's a sensitive issue for you."

"Yes, it is," he said curtly, cursing himself for ever telling her. But had that last movement she had done, that strange nudging, been an act of flirtation? Was he making her fall for him? _Most certainly not,_ he mused.

"So why are you helping me?" she asked him, a small smile remaining on her face showing that her question wasn't all based in suspicion.

He stammered out a few syllables. Why had he done this again? It was a good question. He pondered, unable to speak, because he would only look stupid stuttering without actually saying anything in the process. Suddenly he thought of a reason. _Mayhap I thought in easing her nausea I'd get a more lenient punishment. That's a rather good reason, actually. That was probably my original intention in coming here. Probably so. …But I can't tell her that. _

"I don't know," he managed to say. She chuckled one time silently, which sounded more like a scoff. All of a sudden he had more to say, the actual reason he had shot up in bed this morning, having had a ginger root lodged rather uncomfortably in his pocket during his sleep, immediately remembering the morning before, and Elizabeth's nausea.

"Perhaps it's because I suffer from the same symptom and therefore I know how you're feeling."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him. He smiled back at her, though uneasiness sat in the back of his brain. Elizabeth had been convinced beyond a doubt that the ginger would work, and as it was getting later in the morning, her nausea had already begun to fade. _Besides, why would he admit to such an embarrassing condition as seasickness, unless it was true?_

Elizabeth's smile was genuinely grateful over his supplying her with the nausea remedy. But what was to happen later on in the day? Beckett knew there'd be no escaping a flogging from her; Jack would ensure that. But then, the Azores were only a day or two away.

* * *

So… here's a preview for what is to come:

Chapter 9:

"Come on, you proper gentleman," she said in a gently mocking tone. "I won't tell anyone of this most _scandalous_ event."


	9. Beckett Shirtless

A/N: Thanks to the thoughtful reviews for the last chapter, everyone! I really appreciate it. And now, I post a chapter that was very fun for me to write, and hopefully fun for you to read!

Chapter 9 – Beckett. Shirtless.

Warnings: see title, matey

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After Elizabeth thanked Beckett, he stood up and proceeded to move away from the bed, immediately feeling strange for having gotten so physically close to her with her in such a state. He turned and walked towards the door, oddly unable to look back at her.

"How has your shoulder healed up?" she asked him, recalling his gunshot wound he acquired from a newly recruited pirate from the _Merry Murder_. The past month and a half during their trip to Greenland, and the month they had spent off the coast of Greenland, Beckett and Elizabeth had never spoken at length enough for her to ask him.

He froze in place, reaching his right hand behind him to touch the spot where he had bunched up a lump of the cleanest clothing he could find over the still-mending flesh wound.

"It's healing," he said.

"Shouldn't it be healed completely by now?" she responded.

"I don't know. It still itches a bit, but that's all."

"It looks puffy," she replied, noticing a hump on that side of his back as he retreated. The fact that he wasn't wearing his frockcoat made the hump more obvious. She had seen the unevenness of his shoulders before, but simply attributed it to poor posture or whatnot.

"Well, that's not due to swelling; I put some dressings there," he said, feeling uncomfortable.

"It doesn't look like you did it very neatly. Let me see it."

He stayed facing the door, rendered immobile, shock and disbelief written all over his face. She was actually _asking_ to help him?

"Come on, Beckett. It's the least I can do for you bringing in something to help me. I can put the bandages on better than that."

"They aren't bandages," he said, refusing to face her.

"Then what is that puffiness there?"

"Clothing. I could not find a single bandage aboard this bloody ship," he replied bitterly.

"Well, you should have asked me. I happen to have a couple under my bed, for when you had the wounds from the…." Her voice trailed off, as she remembered the flogging that would occur later on that day. She wouldn't be able to go through with it, but she also couldn't let Beckett be thrown off the ship.

"I should leave, before someone sees me," he said, realizing that he was avoiding allowing her to change her mind about the later flogging. But that was his original purpose coming down here, he had decided in hindsight.

"Please let me fix the dressings," she said.

He wanted so badly to say what was the use; his back would be destroyed later that day, but resisted the urge. Instead he sighed, hearing the bed creak behind him.

"Please, Beckett." Elizabeth had fixed her nightgown as he faced away, and was prepared to examine the gunshot wound. It would be terrible having to go through caring for an unconscious and starving Beckett again.

His eyes downcast, he turned around, looking up briefly to see Elizabeth's face by the glow of the candlelight. Begrudgingly he started to walk back over to the bed.

"Here," she said, patting the bed beside her. "Sit here."

"Really," he replied blandly. "This is not needed by any means. I am managing just fine."

She patted the mattress again, flashing him a warm smile.

"I promise I won't hurt you," she said.

His face lit up with amusement.

"Oh? So you're not going to pour rum all over the wound?" he ventured to ask. She looked embarrassed. He sighed quietly, turned around, and sat down on the indicated spot, facing away from her.

"Let me see it," she said quietly but insistently.

He stood back up, hearing her moving behind him.

"Come on, you proper gentleman," she said in a gently mocking tone. "I won't tell anyone of this most _scandalous_ event."

He was suddenly reminded of _her_. _She_ had treated his wounds as well, but she most certainly did not beg to treat them. Instead, he had to call on her directly, for that meddling doctor always had salve and bandages on his person for the wounded Royal Navy men. He wanted _her_ to touch him, to rub the salve on his sutures, to gently pat the bandage down onto the sutures sewing up the sensitive skin of this thigh….

Beckett sighed again and sank back down onto the mattress. He felt Elizabeth messing with the fabric at the bottom of the shirt and knew what was coming. She wanted him to lift his shirt. The fact that she wanted to help him made him want to acquiesce to her wishes. _Mayhap she can make it less itchy, or make me look less like a bloody hunchback. _

Before she even had to ask, which she was prepared to do, Beckett lifted his shirt, even removing his arms from the baggy sleeves, until the fabric was only attached to him via the collar. He allowed for the shirt to hang down the front of him, exposing the poorly positioned dressings as well as his bare back, to Elizabeth, as she sat behind him on the bed.

She watched on in great interest. There was definitely a good deal of trust in this relationship—friendship? How did he know that she didn't have a dagger waiting to be stabbed into his bare back? He didn't know for sure, and so it could definitely be said that he trusted her. And yet, she trusted him as well, having eaten something he had insisted on without her even knowing exactly what it was.

He had certainly done a poor job of applying the clothing to the wound. Elizabeth leaned forward in bed, peeling the layers of clothing off the wound, one by one. Eventually the wound was bare. She shifted in the bed behind Beckett, rousing his curiosity.

"What does it look like?" he asked, trying to peer behind him to no avail.

She glanced at the wound, which had been stitched rather crudely with some sort of stiff black thread, a brownish crust lining the trail of sutures. The area around the sutures was pink and slightly inflamed-looking, but there was no foaminess or yellow colour indicative of infection. It looked as if the skin around the sutures had healed and that now the sutures were only _impeding_ the complete healing of the wound, and thus, needed to be removed.

"It's healing up rather well," she said, unsure of exactly how a nicely-healing gunshot wound was supposed to like. "They sewed the wound up," she added, wondering if he knew this.

"Ah, yes," he drawled dryly. "I remember being utterly confused when the medic told me they intended to repair the wound, being as I was certain to be executed within the week. He insisted anyway. Before he began, he had me drink several bottles of some sort of alcohol. I remember not feeling well at all the next day, but I don't recall the actual sewing of the wound."

"You were probably unconscious, then," she said, shifting to the other side of the bed to reach underneath for appropriate wound dressings.

"Most likely, yes," he replied, turning slowly to see what all the bustle was about. "What are you doing?"

"Fetching you better dressings," she said, pulling out gauzy strips of white cloth. She also had a sort of adhesive in her possession.

After acquiring all that she needed, she shifted back over in the bed so that she was once again behind him.

She couldn't help but look at him as he sat in front of her, for what would be several minutes, and then he'd be clothed again and leaving her cabin. Beckett was rather slender, more so than his bulky layers of clothing would allow to be seen. His back was free of all tattoos and hair, but several faded scars remained from the flogging she had given him, several purplish gray worm-like lines cut across the perfect skin, one scar in particular an ugly purplish line snaking under his armpit. She immediately felt guilty for having been responsible for marring previously perfect skin.

Elizabeth couldn't see Beckett's bare chest and abdomen, or else she would have observed a decent amount of wavy, light-colored chest hair and good musculature throughout his entire upper body. There was a large and rather smooth scar across his abdomen indicative of the sweeping motion of a sword, but this had been acquired years ago and had healed thoroughly, save for the visual reminder he'd had to live with ever since. Hidden beneath his breeches had been a gaping wound on the front of his thigh, one that had needed to be sutured together, and had been done very well. Although it wasn't exceptionally noticeable now, a slightly wavy line with angry gray borders, he still bore a physical reminder of why he and his crew had had to seek treatment in the Azores.

Suddenly Beckett felt a timid tap on his shoulder.

"What?" he said, turning his head slightly to give her a sidelong glance.

"I think that the sutures need to be removed before your wound will heal any better," she replied quietly.

"Are you saying that the sutures are still there?" he replied, his voice louder than usual. "No wonder the bloody thing itches so much!"

"Yes, they are still here."

"Damn. They need to be removed, or else the wound is never going to heal."

A very awkward pause followed, in which neither Elizabeth nor Beckett spoke or moved. Suddenly Elizabeth shifted behind Beckett, startling him to speak.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, a bit troubled.

"Looking for something to remove the sutures with."

He turned around so that she now could see a side view of his upper body.

"That's not your job," he said, unable to look her in the eye. Her willingness to help was… unnerving.

"Well, then, how is it ever going to heal?"

He suddenly recalled something.

"I'll have the sutures removed when we visit that doctor in the Azores," he replied, his face stoic.

"Alright." She sounded convinced. "Well, for now I'll put a better covering on it, until it is looked at by the doctor. Turn back around."

He didn't move, looking totally lost in thought.

Without thinking, she touched his side, several inches under his arm, yet still over his ribs, in order to get him to return to his original position.

He pulled away immediately from the light touch, revealing his teeth in an unexpected smile and short sneeze-like bout of laughter. She was intrigued.

"What was that all about?" she said, the tone of her voice more than friendly.

He closed his mouth, yet a ghost of a smile still remained.

"That tickled," he replied, feeling vulnerable and yet, strangely not paranoid as he supposed he should be.

_Oh, if only _she_ would have touched me in this way… But, bygones be bygones; Elizabeth is now doing so. _

She reached out again teasingly, and he flinched away, again flashing the rare toothy smile she had just had the opportunity to see.

"You really don't smile enough; you know that?" she said to him.

"Well, what exactly have I got to smile about?" he replied, his impromptu grin fading rapidly.

_No, he can't be resorting back to his stuffy arrogance again_, she mused, disappointed. She'd keep his entertaining self around for a bit longer.

"I can think of at least one thing," Elizabeth said, holding up one finger.

"And what would that be?"

_Really though, what can she possibly say? I'm a wanted man; I have no friends, no family, no allies, and my reputation is forever destroyed…. I am stuck on a stinking pirate ship with people who hate me—and who I hate in turn, of course… And, on top of that, I have this itchy crater in my shoulder that will never heal!_

"This," she said, a matter-of-fact smile on her face. He glanced at her very briefly, a look of confusion on his face, not seeing that her hand was now nearer to him.

His reverie had cost him dearly. Suddenly Elizabeth's finger was tickling the skin under his arms, wriggling across his ribs like some sort of hyperactive worm. He nearly doubled over in a fit of rather embarrassing giggles, his full toothy smile making a reappearance.

He tensed his arms against his sides as he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as he tried to stifle his laughter.

"See? That was easy enough, eh?" he heard her say.

All of a sudden, he turned and caught her hands as she went to tickle him again. They both sat there for a few seconds, him panting from all the giggling as he eyed her warily, trying to regain his composure, her reddened face smiling at him. Both of their hands were intertwined, although he was at an angle to her. Simultaneously they looked at their hand-hand contact, Elizabeth's gaze drifting to the now visible scar on his abdomen. He saw that she was glancing downwards and felt an odd turning of his stomach. Suddenly she looked up at him and their eyes met, hands remaining intertwined.

This little game was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Barbossa at her now slightly opened cabin door, the expression on his face more frightening then when his previously cursed body was exposed to moonlight.


	10. Barbossa and the Barber

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! This here is a loooong chapter! Enjoy!

Chapter 10 –Barbossa and the Barber

Warnings: blood… but no singin'

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Having shared a wall with Elizabeth's cabin, Barbossa had heard murmurings coming from her room and had been curious enough to investigate. He had never expected to find Beckett and Elizabeth seated on Elizabeth's bed, before dawn, him essentially shirtless, her clad only in her nightgown, holding hands?

"Tha's quite enough," he said in a gravelly morning voice, though it came out sounding more sinister than anything else.

Elizabeth's face fell. This looked very bad. She immediately pulled her hands away, dropping them onto her lap, keeping her eyes downcast. Beckett dropped his hands at this time as well. To Elizabeth, this situation felt like an earlier situation with her father, back when she lived in Port Royal.

She and Will were practically inseparable before he was accepted as a blacksmith's apprentice. She remembered one of the last times they had played together, when they had both been fourteen and were putting on a play in the music room of her home. Elizabeth's fascination with pirates had had a major influence on the play's subject.

"_Arrr, ye get back, ye mangy cur!" she had yelled at Will, holding a long iron candlestick as a type of makeshift sword. She had tied her hair back with a bandanna, wearing an old feathered hat of her late mother as a pirate hat. This had been one of the rare times she was able to get away from the frilly dresses and the air of proper society and be herself. _Come to think of it, that hat looked an awful lot like Barbossa's does,_ she mused. _

_She backed Will into a corner, pointing the candlestick at his chest._

"_Please, I hope that you would spare my life," a fourteen-year-old Will implored, falling to his knees._

"_Yer gonna have to empty yer pockets of yer loot first," she said with a piratey growl, prodding him with the tapered though blunt end of the candlestick. _

_He sighed, thrusting both of his hands into the pockets of his breeches. He pulled a heavily scratched pocket watch, several marbles, and four shillings from his pockets._

_Elizabeth removed her hat, holding it out upside-down for the kneeling boy._

"_Put yer booty in me hat, or else it's the plank fer ye!" she said with an evil cackle. _

_He sighed, and placed the items in the hat. After all the items had been deposited in the hat, she very carefully tilted it and thrust it quickly upon her head, hearing the heavier items hit the top of her head as they fell out of the hat._

_Will laughed._

_She glared at him, a scowl on her face. Immediately the slight grin he had on his face disappeared._

"_What's yer reason fer laughin' in my face?" she growled, looking as scary as she could._

"_I'm sorry, ma'am. I did not mean anything by it," he replied, a mock fearful expression on his face._

"_Yer gonna have to do more than that to be forgiven," she said, prodding him with the sword. _

"_What must I do?" was his innocent reply._

"_Stand up first," she commanded. He immediately stood up. She looked at him, this boy with light brown eyes and an everlastingly serious expression on his face. She had to break him, had to make him smile, if only temporarily. How she loved to see that brief hint of a smile from him!_

"_Lift up yer arms," she said. He did so. _

_Suddenly she had dropped the candlestick, ignoring the subsequent metallic clattering, as she tackled him to the floor, tickling him senseless. He was howling with laughter as she sat on his chest, digging her fingers under his arms as he tried in vain to hold them tightly at his sides, a big broad smile across his usually serious face._

_Soon she was lying chest to chest with Will, her hands running crazily up and down his sides as he tried to either dodge their tickling power, or use his own hands to tickle her right back. Both of them were laughing, lying on the floor, when they heard the door open with a bang._

"_Elizabeth," Weatherby Swann said, presumably standing by the door. "What in God's name are you two doing?" He sounded concerned, but not angry, per se. Then again, Elizabeth had never seen her father overcome with anger before. This may have been the closest he had come. _

_She craned her neck around from her position atop Will to look back at her father, his expression dead serious. He wasn't frowning, really, but he definitely wasn't happy._

"_Remove yourself from Mr. Turner, Elizabeth. Such behavior is not becoming of a lady." _

_Sighing, she crawled back off of him, leaving him to sit up, looking as if he had taken in all the guilt. She stood up, facing Will, watching the expression on his face, which was not readable at the moment._

"_Now apologize to Mr. Turner. That was very inappropriate of you, and you can't go about doing such things again."_

"_I'm sorry, Will," she said in the most contrite mumble she could muster, giving Will a little wink afterwards. Her father could not see her face and thus did not pick up on this playfulness. Will flashed her a brief smile, which faded immediately upon her turning to face her father. Weatherby Swann held out a hand to his daughter._

"_Come, child. The dressmaker is due any moment for your fitting for Lt. Commander Norrington's promotion to Commander. You remember him, don't you?" She took his hand hesitantly, nodding solemnly as she looked back at Will, still sitting on the floor, looking hurt._

"_You can't go about doing such things, Elizabeth.…"_

That had been the last time she had been unabashedly playful with Will. After the incident, Will had been accepted into an apprenticeship with the local blacksmith and was now learning a trade, entering manhood. She had to return his loot to him in passing, because they never had another time to reverse roles in another play. Later on in her life, she sensed that her father had lined him up in the apprenticeship so that he and Elizabeth could remain apart. This was probably true.

And now she felt as if the situation was happening all over again, but this time with… Cutler Beckett, of all people. And _Barbossa_ was now acting like her father, though much more intimidating.

Beckett's physical response to this unexpected intrusion was the same as Elizabeth's, though he also let out a breath he had been holding. There'd be no way he'd ever make it to the Azores now. He'd be left floating face-down in the ocean, being pecked by seagulls. He felt like a child being reprimanded. _And soon to be killed, as well._

"Get yer shirt back on," Barbossa said irritably to Beckett, who immediately slipped his arms back through the sleeves of his shirt, unable to look at the captain while he did so.

Elizabeth slid off the side of the bed opposite Beckett, standing beside with as much air of propriety as she could manage, ignoring Beckett for the time being. She faced Barbossa, running a hand through her hair and looking down to ensure that her nightgown was covering her well.

"I should throw ye both off th' ship fer this," the tall captain said, obviously disappointed and alarmed at this situation. Any minute now, the Kraken would probably bubble below the ship….

"Beckett has sutures that need to be removed from his back. I was examining them."

"Right, Missy," Barbossa said in a sarcastic voice. "Never in me life did I know tha' _hands_ could reveal the secrets o' the remainin' bodily flesh. Unless ye've some sort o' trainin' in all that gypsy nonsense."

"I was trying to make him turn arou—"

"Do ye take me fer a fool, Mrs. Turner?" Barbossa replied, suddenly unsheathing a sharp dagger. She gaped up at him, her eyes wide with fear. Was he going to kill her for this?

"I can help ye with that," he said to Beckett, holding the dagger threateningly, as he took a step towards the bed. "Shoulda asked me instead. I'll make quick work o' that fer ye."

Beckett was now standing beside the bed, his hands held up as a form of surrender.

"That's not needed, I assure you. I'm going to have it taken care of when we arrive in Azores."

"Well, ye had _Mrs. Turner_ look at it fer ye. I can take care of whate'er pain it's causin' ye in no time," Barbossa said, taking another step forward.

"I _insisted_ upon seeing it, even though he did not want to show me, Captain Barbossa," Elizabeth said, moving around the side of the bed. "It's my fault."

"I heard yer gonna be flogged later on today by Elizabeth herself," the captain said to Beckett, whose cheeks flushed pink.

"Yes, that is true," Elizabeth said, stepping forward. "I was concerned about the condition of the wound before the flogging is to take place. I wanted to be sure that what happened before isn't going to happen again."

"Right. Looked _exactly_ like what ye be doin' when I arrived," Barbossa said, remembering Beckett lying in the brig on his back, staring up silently at the sky. However, he was not convinced in any sense of the word. "Ye better watch what yer doin', Mrs. Turner, or yer gonna bring on the wrath o' the _Dutchman_."

Her face blanched.

Beckett looked confused.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked Barbossa, suspicion in his eyes.

"Well, ye see, Beckett, Mr. Turner is now captainin' a ship, an' not jus' any ship; he's the new cap'n o' the _Flying Dutchman_."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. Why was he telling Beckett all of this?

"Does that mean he's—" Beckett began.

"Before he was to be leavin' this world, he was commissioned as the new cap'n o' the _Dutchman_."

"Ah." Understanding came over Beckett, and he glanced surreptitiously at Elizabeth, whose mouth was hanging slightly open in shock. _So… Turner won't back for ten years_, he mused. _Interesting situation._

"Sparrow's not gonna be happy about this," Barbossa mumbled, sliding the dagger back into its sheath.

"There's nothing for you to say," Elizabeth stammered in reply. "All that I have said is all that occurred."

"D'ye take me fer a bloody fool, now?" he said, in a sort of humorous disbelief, that she could honestly try to convince him of the innocence of what was going on in her cabin. He held his dagger threateningly, flashing the sort of knowing grin as if having some sort of sinister underlying plan.

Beckett gulped rather loudly, though his expression remained stoic. This sound of fear was not lost on Barbossa and Elizabeth, who both looked over at him.

"Begone with ye, Beckett, before I ensure ye've naught another pain e'er again," Barbossa suddenly commanded, lifting an arm as if to strike Beckett where he stood.

Beckett hastily slipped around Barbossa and slunk out of Elizabeth's cabin, en route back to his hammock in the brig.

Barbossa moved quickly to the door, shutting it and locking it behind Beckett. He strode back over to where he had been standing. He and Elizabeth were now alone in her cabin.

"Heard ye tole Jack that ye'd be punishin' Beckett instead o' lettin' 'im throw Beckett overboard," Barbossa said to her, standing facing her as she stood beside the bed, him on the other side.

"Yes," she replied slowly, caution in her voice.

"An' _why_ would ye do somethin' like that, pray tell?"

She had her reasons. And she wasn't about to tell Barbossa them. However, she felt somewhat violated by having an important detail of her life being revealed without her consent.

"Why did you tell Beckett about Will?"

"I thought it an appropriate punishment fer ye fer lettin' yer guard down so far with 'im."

_Punishment? Who does he think he is, anyway? _

"He was letting his guard down with me even more so. Sitting in front of me in such a vulnerable state. He had no idea if I'd had a pistol or dagger stowed somewhere—"

"Good ye are at gettin' 'em in the position o' mos' vulnerability," Barbossa began, "but then, yer puttin' yer own life an' livelihood at risk, e'en if only indirectly at best."

"I can honestly say I feel no fear for the _Dutchman_'s return. I was simply tending to wounds… that he acquired almost immediately after _saving my life_."

"Well, as long as yer conscience is clear," Barbossa replied, exasperated. "But Beckett has hinted to me tha' somethin' may be goin' on betwixt you two. An' yer steppin' up to prevent his premature departure from th' ship supports that notion."

She looked affronted, and put her hands on her hips.

"What?" she said. "The nerve! And when did he say this?"

"Yesterday morn, after ye followed Jack into his cabin."

"Oh, _really_," she said again, ire in her voice. "If he's going to go about spreading vicious rumours, then I'll see to it that they are quelled."

"So it's not true," he said, watching her carefully.

"Of course not!" she replied, looking irritated. "The nerve of that man! He _murdered_ my father."

The words came out sounding harsh and vengeful, but the way she felt sharply contrasted this. She had forgiven Beckett for the part he had played in Weatherby Swann's death. He was penitent; that was for sure. And he had saved her life, so he had repented for his earlier misdoing.

"Well, now ye have the perfect opportunity to put 'im in 'is place later, when yer administerin' another floggin'."

"I most certainly will do so at that time," she said resolutely.

"An' Jack'll probably want to watch this all happenin', bein' as he'll be shocked to know of the activities that went on behind closed doors."

Ugh. She really didn't want Jack to attend the flogging. It would just feel really odd and he'd probably speak up every couple of seconds to tell her to hit Beckett harder, or something along those lines. Or maybe he'd cringe every time a lash hit, and she'd feel guilty for laying it on too hard. Most likely he'd do the latter.

"Captain Barbossa," she stated very clearly, "there is no particular purpose to your telling him about this."

"Ah, isn't there now?" he said, pulling the dagger back out of the sheath. "Well, I've my purposes fer tellin' 'im. Then again, I can also think of a way ye can convince me not to say anythin' to 'im."

She gulped, feeling the contents of her stomach dropping somewhere down into her legs. What was he going to want her to do? There was no way she was going to do anything that would make it seem as if she was cheating on Will. Besides, if he asked her to do something like that, he'd be a hypocrite.

He held his dagger out to her. She stared at it, confusion written all over her face.

"Take it," he said, flipping it so that she could grab it safely. She took it from him from her position across the bed, staring at him all the while with wide eyes. He walked around the foot of the bed and stood very close to her, then suddenly sat down on the bed, facing her.

_Oh, God_, she mused, watching him smile at her, his hedgehog-bristled face looking older than ever.

"I want ye to give me a shave," he said, looking up at her as he removed his feathered hat slowly and laying it beside him on the rumpled blankets.

"—But I don't know how to—"

"'s easy. Ye run it up against the skin without makin' it go _into_ the skin. Simple enough concept, eh?"

"But why can't you—"

"I tend to do a rather lousy job on me own face. Can't see me reflection to get it jus' right. An' I don' want to be tormented fer days on end by Jack, e'en though his stubble don' look much better. Tha' man can hardly grow hair."

"So if I do this, you're not going to inform Ja—"

"Correct. Tha's the deal; take it or leave it." He beamed up at her, the scraggles of his graying beard and mustache sticking out every which way.

"Alright," she said, pulling up the bedside table and sitting on it. She held the dagger in her right hand, looking at him questionably.

"D'ye have no idea?" he finally said, after she sat there motionlessly for a minute or so. She nodded.

"Yer to wet my face down firs'," he said, "to soften the skin." He snatched the dagger from her hand, holding it so that the blade lay against his skin, though at a shallow angle from lying flat against the surface of the skin.

"Then ye take the dagger an' do this." He scraped the blade along his cheek, causing a scratchy sound much like that of sandpaper to come from the motion. A decent amount of shaved hairs now stuck to the edge of the dagger's blade. Quickly he rubbed the blade against his shirt, removing the hairs. He then handed the dagger back to her.

"See? Tha's all ye need do," he said, giving her a grin of confidence.

"Well, I need to go get some water first," she said. He picked one of the cloths that had been on Beckett's wound up off the bed and handed it to her.

"Soak this with water an' that should be good enough. If ye don' return I'll know what I mus' do."

"Don't worry," she said, aware of the threat as she walked past him. "I'll be right back."

She left her cabin, shutting the door behind her, and headed down to the hold. There was fresh water in the barrels that she would acquire the needed water from. She loosened the lid of the barrel and poured water over the fabric, soaking it to a transparent state. Aside from his obvious loathing of Jack, Barbossa really was rather even-tempered.

Upon reaching the gun deck, she hastily opened her cabin door, slipped inside, and shut the door behind her. Barbossa was right where he had been before, grinning at the wet cloth in her hands.

She moved towards where he was seated and sat herself down on the table, handing him the cloth.

"You're probably best at wetting your own face," she told him with as shy an air as possible. He took the cloth and began blotting his face with it. Afterwards, he dropped it to the floor below.

She leaned towards Barbossa as slowly as possible, allowing the edge of her hand to lie against his skin before placing the blade there. She noticed a scar from a dagger-like slice under his right eye and cringed a bit, hoping that all would go smoothly.

Holding her breath, Elizabeth made a flicking motion with the blade against his skin, praying that she'd see bits of hair along the edge of the blade—and nothing else.

She looked at the blade. Nothing.

Barbossa made eye contact with her, and it was truly unnerving, because his face was ever so close to her own. His eyes were deep blue but also quite bloodshot, spoiling the whole effect of what dazzlingly coloured eyes could have. The brilliant colour of his eyes was also apparent to her after Sao Feng had assumed that she was the goddess Calypso in human form.

"Ye've got to get a little closer than that," he said, his breaths felt on her face. This was ever so strange. Having gotten way too up close and personal to Jack, Beckett, and now Barbossa… all while her husband was away.

She leaned forward slightly more, not understanding exactly what he had meant. Again she placed first the side of her hand on his cheek, then the blade. She scraped down his cheek with the blade, hearing a sandpapery sound in response. He was staring at her, and it was unnerving her to no end.

"Can you close your eyes?" she asked him very politely, glancing at the blade for traces of hair.

"Ha ha," he said, nearly laughing. "Maybe Jack an' Beckett can trust ye with a blade while blindfolded, but I'm not yet at that point."

"Oh. Well, I daresay you've a good deal of trust in me to do this," she said, watching his resulting chuckle. "Well, look off in another direction or something. Please."

He was amused at how affected Elizabeth was by closeness, no matter who it was with. She was obviously very inexperienced with these sorts of things. Truth to tell though, so was he, even though he was no longer young and that was now unacceptable to admit. This situation was safe for him, having an even more frightened partner to share the moment with. When he had to yell out the chant for Tia Dalma—err, Calypso –with the voice of a lover, he'd had no idea. Oh, he'd had plenty of women in his time, had done anything in the book that could have been described with a name, but he'd never had to interact with women on a daily basis. Lovers and romance and all that. Wasn't the life of a pirate, to do such things. His time spent with women consisted of only a night or two spent ashore when the _Pearl_'d make berth. It was nice getting such a young, pretty woman to be so close in proximity to him. And these were much more pleasant circumstances than after she had claimed parlay against him and his cursed crew, and when they dined together in the captain's cabin afterwards.

He acquiesced to Elizabeth's demand, his blue eyes gazing off towards the back wall in the far left-hand corner of the room. She ran the blade along his cheek, unsure of the exact angle to hold the blade.

She had gotten hair off with the blade! Oh… but there was also a trickle of blood, ever so thin, from the sharp point of his cheekbone.

"Ohh," she said, disappointed.

"What be the problem?" he replied, looking back at her, his eyes wider than normal.

"There's a little trickle—I must have accidentally—"

"Believe me, I'll be directly aware if ye do somethin' truly bad," he said.

Greatly relieved, she continued with the shaving.

Being as this sort of activity was very new to her, it took her almost a half hour to finish up. He had insisted that all the stubble on his cheeks, jowls, neck, and most of the hair on his chin would be rendered clean-shaven. She'd left the mustache and a skinny goatee as the only remaining facial hair.

He picked the now-drying cloth up off the ground, and used it to wipe the stray hairs off his face. He really did look twenty years younger, after the removal of all those gray spiky hedgehog hairs. She was proud of the job she had done.

Barbossa ran the back of his fingers against his now smooth face, looking at Elizabeth from her position on the table.

"Ah, yer a natural," he said, smiling. The tall older captain really could be quite charming when he wanted to be.

"I'm glad you approve," she replied, genuinely happy that he was satisfied.

"So it looks alright to ye?"

"Yes, I daresay it does."

"I'll keep yer word in mind, if'n I be hearin' any dissention 'bout it," he said, standing up and brushing off his clothes. He put his hat back on his bandanna-clad head and stately tipped his hat to her as he strode out of her cabin, shutting the door behind him.

She was left in a daze. Had Beckett really been spreading rumours about the ship that they were involved? Oh, she'd show him…

* * *

Preview for chapter 11:

"You're late," a voice said. There was Beckett, sitting on a barrel near the ruined grating of the brig's only cell, a smirk on his face.


	11. A Painful Misunderstanding

Thanks to all who reviewed! I think this chapter is my longest yet! Enjoy!

Chapter 11: A Painful Misunderstanding

Warnings: innuendo an' a drop or two of blood, an' some o' Beckett's more sinister thoughts….

* * *

Elizabeth couldn't help but mull over what Barbossa had said about Beckett's hinting at her and his being involved, and was curious as to if he had said something similar to Jack. She also couldn't help but wonder if Beckett had been lying about not revealing her state of health to Jack. Before she was to go through with the flogging, she had to know.

"Jack," she said, approaching the captain as he stood on the quarterdeck, a telescope to his eye.

"Hello, Lizzie," he replied, keeping the telescope up. "Lovely day, eh?"

"Yes. The sky couldn't be clearer, I think."

He grunted in reply. Here was the moment of truth.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him. He was finally done with the telescope, and condensed it to a small size, tucking it away in his frockcoat.

He looked at her.

"Fine. An' yourself?"

"Very well, thank you."

A silence followed, thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"Great. It's important that you're feeling as such, bein' as you have quite a responsibility later on today."

"He won't be disobeying you again after this," she said, her voice calm and confident.

"Better not be. Or spreadin' lies either, as it were."

"What do you mean by that?" she ventured, automatically suspicious as to the nature of the lies.

He looked at her, half a grin on his face.

"He said I would be not be pleased if I was aware o' th' advantages his presence brings to a certain someone aboard, obviously referrin' to yourself. As well as commentin' several times on the nature of your relationship—"

Her mouth went agape in shock once more. _Beckett told not only Barbossa, but also told _Jack_ that something's going on between us?_ _What's he trying to do; get me kicked off the ship?_

"How dare he?" she shouted, cutting off Jack's train of thought. "What does he think; that I won't hear these ridiculous rumours and find their source?"

"So it's not true—"

"Of course it's not true. Do you take me to be some sort of fool?" She gave him a small smile. "I thought you knew me better than that."

He took a swaggering step closer to her, flashing his golden teeth.

"Well, I _can_ get to know you better; jus' say th' word."

She realized the suggestiveness of his statement and smiled but didn't say anything.

Jack returned her grin with a warm genuine smile.

"Luv, in all me life I've never met someone quite as complex as yourself… not that that's a bad thing, o' course."

She looked mildly affronted.

"Well, you are complex as well!" she said poutily.

"Mos' certainly not," he said coolly. "All I need to be happy is a bottle o' rum an' th' sea beneath th' ship beneath my feet."

"No one else?"

"Wot do you mean?"

"So, you're perfectly happy being alone on the sea on the _Pearl_ with a bottle of rum—"

"Aye… even though I'd need a crew to help run me ship."

"You don't need anyone to make you happy?" she asked, saying it in a disbelieving sort of voice. It had to be nice not depending on others for happiness, but was it actually possible for the amiable Jack Sparrow to feel such a way?

"Wot's th' point, really," he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice that she had never heard until now. "Puttin' such massive responsibilities on another is guaranteed to lead to disappointment. An' so I avoid the whole rigmarole altogether."

It seemed that finally Jack had given up the active pursuit of Elizabeth's fancies. _Well, it's all for the better_, she mused, _seeing as he can't even trust me to tell me about the Azores…. _

* * *

When it came time for the flogging, Elizabeth tried to guess at where Beckett would be laying low. She was in a rather poor mood because she had searched the forecastle, the hold, and Jack's cabin for Beckett. She had been mulling over his lies to Barbossa and Jack about the nature of their acquaintanceship, she thought of it merely as. _Surely he wouldn't have jumped overboard_, she mused, heading down the stairs to the brig. _There's still no sign of land in sight_.

A creaking noise in the vicinity of the brig startled her, and she froze in place, listening for more sounds, her head still not low enough on the stairs to see who – or what – the source of the noise was.

She took a couple more steps down, her eyes adjusting to the significantly dimmer atmosphere of the brig.

"You're late," a voice said. There was Beckett, sitting on a barrel near the ruined grating of the brig's only cell, a smirk on his face. He had not bothered to put on his waistcoat or frockcoat. His dangling legs did not quite touch the floor.

She flashed him a look of disbelief and of suspicion.

"You've been here all along?" she ventured to ask, her eyes narrowed.

"I do believe I have an appointment for —a quarter of an hour ago, is it now? I happen to pride myself on punctuality."

"I see," she replied, her face dead serious. Somehow this further amused him. Beckett was now grinning unabashedly.

"What's so amusing," she asked him in a deadpan tone. He slid down off of the barrel, slapping his hands together to rid himself of any dirt they had accumulated.

"Nothing," he replied, smile fading, not moving any closer to her. Suddenly he turned away from her, his hands moving to his shirt. Without a word, he robotically slipped his shirt over his head, placing it neatly on the lid of the barrel. He stood for a few seconds more, his back to her.

She could do nothing but gape at him, her mouth now slightly open. Had he gone mad? Was he enjoying this? Was he getting some sort of kick out of this?

"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone flat.

He turned around, flashing her a look of boredom.

"Preparing myself," he replied, matter-of-factly, giving her an unrestricted view of his chest hair and healthy amount of musculature. She was too busy gaping at his build to notice the sword-slice scar across his abdomen. _Evidently he doesn't sit around _all_ day drinking tea and chewing on lumps of sugar…. _

"What," she said blandly, blinking in disbelief. She then kept her eyes focused exclusively on his eyes, so as not to let her gaze wander elsewhere.

"Mere hours ago, you were concerned about the wound on my shoulder," he said, indicating his left shoulder, "and as I'd prefer _not _to have it struck with the cat, by removing my shirt, it's thus possible for you to see where the blows are landing."

He followed his statement in a sort of grin in which he bit his lower lip.

_He's trying to use his state of undress to fluster me,_ Elizabeth mused, watching his mouth more intently than she would have wanted to admit. _He doesn't seem the type to lack modesty. Guess I haven't totally figured him out just yet… _A flash of her eyes to his chest again, and she took a quick intake of air, looking over at the cat, hanging on its nail.

Elizabeth walked over to the cat, pulling it off the nail, glancing very quickly at Beckett to see what he would do next.

Beckett gave her a nod of understanding, his mouth now serious but his eyes still glistening. He turned away from her, walking over to the hull as she gaped on. He placed his hands on the hull a good distance apart, and looked back at her expectantly.

She didn't move. Something squirmed in her stomach. Was he going to ambush her or something when she walked over there?

"What?" he said, shifting back and forth on his feet, looking back at her as his body stayed turned away from her. She remained silent, just sort of gaping in his general direction.

"Were you instead anticipating a flogging like the one above deck?" he said. He removed his hands from the hull, turned and crossed his arms quite haughtily. "I apologize in advance, but I'm afraid I must refuse to allow you to see that sort of view again." He followed his statement off with a naughty smirk.

"What are you—"

He took a step closer, holding his head at a slight angle as he looked at her, the smirk remaining.

"However, I'd be willing to make exceptions if I'm first seduced into obedience. That, of course, would require your first taking—"

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she suddenly shrieked, startling him. The odd playful, _flirty_ mood he was in was scaring her and causing her to be suspicious and mistrusting and conjuring up all sorts of negative paranoid emotions within her.

On the other hand, the last time Beckett had been around Elizabeth it had been rather entertaining. He and she sitting on her bed, her insisting on examining his wounds, and her even going so far as to tickle him; a good bit, in fact. There was no reason for her to be so irked by his playful talk. She had been playful earlier, that he was sure of. _After all, what transgressions does she have against me, to justify actually flogging me?_ He considered it as her favour to him, to merely keep him aboard ship. Whatever purpose he served afterwards to her was anyone's guess, save for the secretive doctor's visit on Pico Island. Maybe that was all. But she still had no reason to actually start physically flogging him….

"Get back in position," she commanded, watching his smirk fade to a sort of disappointed exasperation.

Sighing deeply, he turned back around and put his hands on the hull once more, watching her warily as she approached with the cat o' nine tails. He began talking once again as she swung her arm back.

"So, did the roots help with your naus—Agh!" he half-yelped, half-bellowed when the tails struck him forcefully across his good shoulder, the familiar stinging pain causing little waves of nausea to go through him. He removed his hands from the wall and turned to face her, confused and angry, face flushing red.

"Good God woman; why are you even bothering!" he said accusingly, yet not raising his voice. He took several steps towards her.

"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "Am I not hitting hard enough? You are to be punished by me, and that is what I am doing! Turn around!"

"You know very well that you have no _real_ reason to punish me, Elizabeth," he murmured, his voice low and breathy, remaining facing her.

"That's _Mrs. Turner_ to you," she shot back. "And yes, I do have a rather valid series of reasons to do so."

He crossed his arms.

"And what would those be, may I ask."

"Turn around!" she bellowed. "Or else I'll flog you where you stand!"

"No," he snapped, looking positively arrogant. It looked like he was going to take another step towards her. Her behavior alarmed him. He had suspected his punishment would be a mere slap on the wrist, if that, maybe followed with some laughter—or perhaps even some light tickling…. After all, she had no real reason to flog him. _What could she possibly be thinking? This has got to be some sort of sick joke on her part, one that already smarts a good deal—_

Elizabeth raised the tails above her head and shoulders, preparing to strike him. She took two steps toward him, the tail moving to hit its target. The arrogant smirk Beckett had on his face faded into one much like his last expression aboard the doomed _Endeavour_, and he whirled around quickly in a late attempt to get away, or at least so that his back would take the blow.

As the tails hit him, they just so happened to lick across the gunshot wounds. He fell to his knees as if shot, making a sort of animalistic sound, trying ever so hard to keep his mouth shut and teeth gritted. She watched him there, shirtless, kneeling on the floor, blood trickling from between some of the stitches of the now rather nasty-looking wound. She had never meant to strike him there. Why hadn't he just toppled over, or moved to the side? She felt queasy and extremely dizzy, looking down at three Becketts and a thick cat of twenty-seven tails. All of a sudden darkness overcame her completely.

* * *

Elizabeth came to shortly afterwards with a splitting headache, yet her head rested against something relatively soft. Her eyes fluttered open to the sight of Cutler Beckett, looking down at her, his face devoid of any readable expression. She soon realized that her head was lying in his lap, and – too quickly – attempted to sit back up again. When she had gotten halfway up, the dizziness returned with such a vengeance that she dropped her head back onto his lap, flashing him a glare of suspicion in the process.

"What just happened?" she said. "How in the world did I end up here?"

"You don't remember?" he asked quietly, his inquiry more of a statement than a question.

"It's not that—I remember what I was doing… but then I opened my eyes and I'm… here."

He sighed, hating that she hadn't simply forgotten what had just taken place, what was _supposed_ to still be taking place at the moment.

"You fainted," he said simply. "I don't know what it is about you women and your weak ways. Always fainting or acting so delicate in an otherwise completely inappropriate situation."

_Or dying... with apparently no cause at all. Going from completely healthy and tough to dead, simply upon setting foot on a bloody ship_, he mused, silently cursing the Azores and the heartache it held for him.

She was immediately intrigued. Was there a woman in his life?

"What, has this happened before to you?" she said, placing her hand on the ground so as to remove herself from this most odd positioning.

"Why does it matter, anyway," he said. "You had quite a fall," he added, trying to change the subject.

_He really is quite an enigma, _she mused. Her head throbbed with pain.

"Did I hit my head?" She sat up slowly this time until she was sitting near him but not physically contacting him in any way.

"Yes. Unfortunately because of the state that I was in – no thanks to you – I was not able to catch you."

"It's not like this came out of nowhere, Beckett. You've known about this since yesterday."

"Well, I never thought you'd actually go through with it," he shot back quickly. "What are your supposed 'valid series of reasons' for doing so, if I may ask again." The impatience in his voice was obvious.

She cleared her throat.

"I was informed by both Jack and Barbossa that you have been spreading lies to them," she said.

"About what?" he said, utterly lost. _What could they possibly accuse me of lying about?_

Elizabeth could feel her face getting hot.

"You know precisely what I'm referring to," she told him.

"No," he said, scratching his head. "I'm confused."

"I'm not going to explain your own actions back to you."

"What in particular have I lied about. This is important, seeing as how it prompted you to act so irrationally."

This statement irked her.

"You insinuated to both Jack and Barbossa that you and I are an item," she said, finishing her statement with a sigh. He opened his mouth to reply but she continued speaking. "If I'd known that treating you in any way but with the utmost contempt would lead to these sorts of implications, I'd simply go on hating you, if that's what you'd like to have done."

As she took a breath, Beckett began explaining.

"I in no way, shape, or form meant to imply that sort of thing. I had simply left it up for Barbossa to judge on his own, neither confirming nor denying. It's none of his business anyway," he added bitterly.

"Yes, it _is_ his business," she replied. "As you now know, my husband is the new captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, our ally. If he should learn of some supposed flirtation, there's no telling what he would do."

"But he's not going to find out, is he?" he said in a monotone. "He has duties in _another world_. He's not going to risk a transformation of his physical appearance into various sea life or what-have-you by ignoring his duties to check up on you. After all, his appearance is just about all I can see he has going for him, no offense intended."

She flashed him a look of spite. _Yes, Will isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's courageous and loyal and dedicated—oh, Beckett does have a very nice amount of chest hair. _

"What need would there be to have him check on you, anyway?" Beckett continued. "You _do_ trust each other completely, I'm sure…"

He bit on his lower lip, looking at her anticipatorily.

_He needs to stop doing that with his lip_, Elizabeth mused, immediately averting her eyes.

She was unnerved. She trusted Will, but Will didn't exactly trust her. He never really had. His vying for her affections always seemed to be a race against others, first with James Norrington, and then with Jack Sparrow. _Probably the only reason he proposed was so that I'd not stray, because otherwise there's no vows keeping me to himself. Even so, I can't help but be uncomfortable with a previous enemy, simply because he has his shirt off. It's a shame that he's not so bad to look at…._

Elizabeth must have paused a slight bit too long in her thoughts, for Beckett began speaking again.

"Ah, I _see_," Beckett murmured, an impish smirk appearing on his face reminiscent of the days of yore. "Mr. Turner may indeed have a valid reason to occasionally monitor your fidelity."

"Why do you assume it's him not trusting me?" she shot back quickly. His smirk spread.

"I've never seen another woman anywhere near him. And I know there to be no women on the _Dutchman_. On the other hand, you're always surrounded by men. And you've had quite a few admirers along the way."

She couldn't help but be flattered yet remained suspicious. Was he referring to Jack?

Beckett spoke up again.

"How long is it until Captain Turner can return to land? A decade, is it?"

Elizabeth's face fell.

"Yes."

"That's an _awfully_ long time for one to remain faithful, especially to someone heartless. Literally."

She cringed at the reminder of Will's not-quite-alive state of being.

"You're telling me," she scoffed, realizing immediately she had said way too much. _Why didn't I shoot some nasty remark his way, being as his statement was meant to be offensive?_

His eyes lit up at her unexpected comment.

"Why punish yourself over his lapse of attention to staying alive? It's not your burden to bear," he said in a dry monotone.

"Yes it is."

He put his hand to his mouth, as if considering.

"Alright. So you'll see him for a day every ten years. Let's see. That'll be… once when you are what, thirty, assuming you're twenty now. Then once a decade, when you're forty, fifty, sixty, and seventy years of age. So essentially you are punishing yourself for fifty years in order to see him for five more days. I can't see how anyone could be worth that torture, let alone him." He cleared his throat, watching her glare at him.

"Meaning no offense by my last statement," he muttered, looking slightly sheepish.

She frowned, deep in thought. Oh, why hadn't she thought this through more carefully? Her entire life was essentially gone… for five days. And probably only three of those days for experiencing those amazing pleasures ever again.

The sound of Beckett's voice pulled her out of her reverie of disgust.

"And, in addition to this, you'll be aging, whereas he'll remain youthful. That may make things awfully awkward, say, upon your days with him at age fifty and above. I cannot even imagine how strange that would be—"

"Alright!" she heard herself blurt aloud. "That's enough!"

She watched him smirk, him knowing that he had made her think… and squirm.

She had to bring up the original subject again, before it was lost completely. Besides, she was supposed to be flogging him at this time, and might cause suspicion among the crew if she was not.

"Well, the point is, I decided to execute the punishment when I heard you were making up lies. I don't like liars."

"Is that reason enough to flog them, as well as striking them across an obviously sore wound, at that…."

She flinched as if she had been burned.

"I didn't mean to hit you there," she murmured. "You moved in the wrong direction."

"And yet, you meant to hit me, all the same. If I hadn't moved, the tails would have struck me across the chest. Ah, yes, that would have been _much_ more pleasant."

"You shouldn't have lied. Simple as that."

"Well, _I_ wasn't the one who immediately broke a promise and divulged a secret meant to be kept. I don't like people who can't honour promises."

Elizabeth's face flushed with shame. He hadn't even approached her about it, hadn't even mentioned her broken vow until now. Granted, there were several instances when he could have brought it up, could have gotten ever so angry at her over it. But he hadn't. It was she that had irrationally decided to punish Beckett for doing something that could have been cleared up with simple conversation. Her transgression against him could have very easily resulted in his death, had she not been awake to stop it.

She thought very hard what she was going to say, going to do. He watched her intently, most likely not realizing that he was still only half-dressed.

"Alright," she finally said, after a couple of minutes of silence and anticipation (on Beckett's part) had passed. "We're even then."

"You broke your promise; I allegedly lied; that's all well and good. And yet _I_ didn't get to lash you twice with the cat," he said in a pouty tone.

Her eyes grew larger and she gave him a look as if believing he was serious.

"What," he said, seeing her resulting expression of horror and bewilderment. "I might be called a cruel man, but I would never lay a hand – or an implement, for that matter – on a woman. That is, of course, unless it is expressly desired by said woman." He smirked at her, rubbing his thighs with his hands, awaiting her physical and verbal response to such a… what was it, an invitation of sorts?

Elizabeth chuckled nervously.

"If the woman desired for you to do such a thing, it couldn't be called punishment anymore," she stammered, her voice sounding hollow.

Beckett hadn't expected that reply. He had assumed she'd change the subject very quickly and very poorly. There was more to her than he had first assumed.

"I'd be willing to make an exception… in your case," he said, voice low and husky, staring at her with intense blue-gray eyes. "That is, if you'd _really_ like to assuage your guilt and even the score."

She gaped at him in utter shock, her mouth open as she watched him openly and unabashedly flirting with her. And what was worse was that she was finding herself to be rather enjoying this sort of talk.

"I really do feel guilty for having gotten you into trouble, but you should have been honest with me up front and told me that if Jack found out anything, you'd have been thrown overboard—"

"Oh, so you'd only be willing to keep a promise if there was a serious consequence for not doing so?"

"That is _not_ what I meant."

He clasped his hands together in front of him.

"I rest my case," he said, his expression triumphant.

Elizabeth glared at him.

"You're wrong about me," she muttered.

One corner of his mouth curled his lips into a partial grin.

"Am I? Well, then please explain your reasoning for having betrayed my trust a mere hour after I was so adamant on you keeping your mouth shut." He ended his statement with a smile, so that the last words wouldn't sting quite so harshly.

She stood up unexpectedly, her jaw set in frustration.

"I did _not_ tell him outright, as you apparently assume. The way he found that you told me was that I made the connection between Pico Island and the Azores, and then said I'd never been to the Azores. He figured I had to have heard of Pico Island from someone else—you. You don't give Jack enough credit for the logic he uses."

Beckett scoffed from his position on the floor. "Ha. You could very well have learned of Pico Island from that Gibbs fellow, at the very least. He was in the Royal Navy once, I've heard. Or from Barbossa. Certainly both men have been to the Azores before. You revealed it all to Jack in the way you looked at him. Surely your guilt was written all over your face."

Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, Beckett stood up and turned his back to Elizabeth as he fetched his shirt. With his back to her, some oozy and caked blood around the sutures of the gunshot wound, he slipped the shirt back over his head.

"Wait—" she said, watching him freeze in place. He turned to face her, one arm in the shirt, preparing to push another arm through the other sleeve. His face had a sort of knowingness to it, though she didn't know of what exactly.

"Jack will think we are up to something if I don't follow through—"

Beckett sighed, slipping his other arm through the sleeves as he shot her a mildly venomous look.

"So I think I've figured something out. Take off your shirt again."

She picked the cat o' nine tails off of the ground by her feet.

His eyes briefly lit up with interest at her requesting him to remove his clothing, yet his mouth twisted in disgust at the sight of the cat. He removed his shirt, holding it in one hand as he looked at her again.

"I'm going to flog your shirt," she said, devising a new plan in her head. "And you're going to bellow as if hit. Does that sound logical?"

"I take it that you're doing this so as not to arouse the suspicions of dear Captain Sparrow and poor Captain Barbossa into confirming that there is something going on between—"

"As _well_ as to save _you_ the pain—"

"Which I don't deserve anyway—" he interrupted.

"—and to satisfy Jack in thinking that the punishment has been carried out, and so he'll let you off the hook," she finished, ignoring his last comment.

"Right," he said sarcastically. "Contrary to what you claim, this is all for your benefit. However, being as I _still_ haven't told anyone of your sickness, I am not going to do one more favour for you—" he watched her face flush. "—that is, until we are even."

"What do you mean by that," she said in a high-pitched monotone, almost dropping the cat in the process.

"You know very well what I mean by that," he said, a wry grin across his face, his eyes flashing naughtily.

"Absolutely not," she said, crossing her arms, the cat still in her hand.

"Very well," he said snappishly, stepping towards the ladder leading to the gun deck, an amused smile on his face. "I only hope Jack is able to control his jealousy over noticing your lack of follow-through due to a _deeper involvement_ with the condemned."

"Go ahead; tell him! See how I care!" Elizabeth cried.

He got to the top of the ladder, only his legs from knees down visible to Elizabeth, and called out in a singsong voice.

"Oh, Ja-ack…."

* * *

A/N: The next chapter is going to be the heavy chapter, the major one making this story a T rating. I MUST WARN YOU THAT IT'S RATHER DIFFERENT THAN EVERY CHAPTER SO FAR. I hope you are looking forward to it! I make mention of it in the last chapter/note page of Beckett's Debt, to remind you of the nature of this warning.

Chapter 12: _"We're not even," Elizabeth said breathily, her voice barely above a whisper, disappointment in her eyes._


	12. Tables Turned

A/N: Thanks for your feedback on the last chapter! Please be sure and read the warnings for this chapter before you go about reading it, because it is a rather different type of situation. If you're staunchly against any and all Beckabeth flirtation, you may just want to ignore this chapter…. To tell you the truth, I rather enjoyed writing this chapter, but of course, everyone is different…. However, you may want to "set the mood" by not being in a really busy room when you read this…. As you can see by the small scroll bar on your browser, this is quite a long chapter, but I couldn't figure out where to divide it in half, so, here it is in all its glory...

Chapter 12: Tables Turned

Warnings: innuendo an' kink… if yer not into those sort o' things then ye probably won't like this… so please don' be too harsh if ye still choose to read such a thing after such an explicit warnin'…

* * *

Beckett smirked knowingly as he felt the expected tug on the bottom of his breeches. He took a couple of steps backwards down the steps, ducking his head under the floor to peer at Elizabeth.

She was shooting him the nastiest glare she could conjure, having released her hold on his clothing.

"You can stop now," she spat at him, watching his eyes narrow with mild suspicion.

"And just _why_ would I want to do that, pray tell." He bit his lower lip, awaiting her response.

She crossed her arms huffily, looking up at him at his position on the steps.

"Because next time Jack decides to toss you overboard, I'm not going to be there to stop him."

"Well, that's because you'll be right beside me, prodded overboard whilst wearing nothing but your slip. Sounds rather exciting to me." He finished his statement in a contrastingly dry tone, yet his eyes flashed with interest.

"Jack would never believe you," Elizabeth replied, sounding confident, ignoring his last comment. "I can just stand here and say that you're being difficult and that you're trying to blackmail me into agreeing not to punish you."

Suddenly a strange little flicker of a grin came across Beckett's face, and his eyes lit up. _She thinks just as I think. How is it possible that she and I are so alike? And yet, she doesn't disgust me, as she probably should. Mm. Watching her march to the end of the plank in an almost transparent slip. Following behind her as she plunges into the water, the slip flying up over her head in the process, revealing everything in one fell swoop… the slip immediately becoming transparent in the waves. It wouldn't take much prodding to leap off the plank after her to take in that particular sight…. _

"Ah, but _Barbossa_ would believe me. There'd be no way to convince him otherwise. You know that what he saw in your cabin looked very bad indeed. I'd tell him, and then _he_ could convince Sparrow. Your time with the _Pearl_ is running short unless you allow for me to even the score. Since you're apparently _so_ guilt-ridden and all."

"You're despicable," she spat, shooting him a venomous glare. He sighed, taking another step down the ladder.

"Well, at least I'm trustworthy."

Her face had darkened to a rather violent shade of red. It looked like she was about to explode. _If I had a sword, I'd be pushing her away from me with the point of it at this moment. Otherwise I'm within reach of being strangled by her._

All of a sudden, Elizabeth let out a long-held breath of air, the red of her face fading to a more normal shade of pink. Beckett remained where he was, even though he felt much like running away. She regained her composure and spoke.

"If I agree to your stupid ploy just this once, will you keep your mouth shut from now on to Jack and Barbossa about—"

"It shall never cross my lips again," he replied calmly, yet secretly thrilling inside.

* * *

"They're going to hear us," Elizabeth whimpered, positioned across Beckett's lap, fortunately for her still fully dressed. Beckett had slipped his shirt back on and was staying silent for the time being, having decided the cat o' nine tails to be too harsh—and not fun enough for him.

_This is just like my manipulation of Jack_, she told herself. _No reason to feel any other emotion about this. I am simply using Beckett so that he'll do as told. Yes. That's all. I'm giving in to his ridiculous demand so that he'll keep his mouth shut from now on. After all, I don't want to be dumped off in the Azores forever after Jack assumes that I've went soft for Beckett, or even worse, that I've fallen for Beckett. _However, she had to admit that this new positioning looked very much like what she'd feared. Beckett was her _enemy_; months ago, she would have given anything to watch the ever-present smirk on his face be wiped away forever. But now… the ire had left her. He had more than paid his dues. She was a rage of emotions and had been ill for some time now, and he had given her something to soothe her sickness. He had even saved her life. Well, truth to tell, she had saved _his_ life three times now, yet here he was, arguing that the score was favoured towards her end—and getting her to agree to this vile treatment. _How did he manage to convince me of this?_ she mused. _Well, the first time I saved his life, I did it so that I could exact my revenge, rather than let him simply fall asleep in the water. So that probably shouldn't count… Wait, why am I trying to justify his mutated sense of reasoning? _

She knew that Jack had his own things on his mind, namely his troubling issue with the Azores, and being as she was constantly ill-at-ease around him, she no longer could claim him as a confidant. But where exactly did Beckett fit into all of this?

Beckett looked down at Elizabeth draped across his lap, her hips resting on his thigh. Never would he have expected her to actually give in. _There must be more to her than I first thought_, he mused, enjoying the view. It had been more of a tease from him than an actual request, but he had _definitely_ pushed the envelope a bit. _Well, I've sort of blackmailed her into this, in all honesty_. _But no matter. This is actually going to happen_. To him, there was something inherently seductive in the act of making oneself vulnerable to another person; to bow to that person's will completely. He had previously done so in the brig with Elizabeth, and as much as he hated to admit it, although that flogging had rendered him breathless and dangerously weakened, not all of it was bad. And now the tables were turned.

"What shall it be then? Five?" he said, his voice hushed as he looked down at the top of her head.

Her chin dropped onto his other thigh as she sighed.

"Whatever. Just get it over with," she said, shutting her eyes.

"Now, that's not the spirit," he replied in a _tsk_ing tone, his gaze taking in the form of her draped over his lap. "Why do _you_ think you ought to be spanked?"

The last word he said caused a bristling of something within her, not sharp and painful, not nauseating, but something of a different nature. She couldn't, of course, tell him the real reason she was giving in to his demands. _That's simple: blackmail_, she mused, almost scoffing aloud. However, there was an element of penance to this, because she had done Beckett wrong by letting her curiosity get the best of her with Jack.

She declined to move her chin from where it sat. As she spoke Beckett felt her jaw moving up and down on his thigh… and couldn't help but enjoy the sensations it evoked.

"Because I have to even the score, or however you worded it," she replied glumly. _So that you don't turn the whole bloody ship against me…_

"Right," he replied, his voice chipper. "And may I add; due to your irrational, childish behavior from earlier, in which you decided to lash out at me – quite literally – in lieu of simply communicating to clear the air, you are to be punished just like an insolent child."

He was truly in his element. He rather liked this sort of play. Hopefully her weight was not bearing down upon any certain area of his lap, for that might lead to certain issues later…

Elizabeth was affronted, but not as much as she should be, not as much as was customary for her. There was an element of guilt there in what she had brought about, and so his statement wasn't completely inaccurate. There was also something else there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. _Wait—but why am I telling myself this?_

Suddenly his hand was at the waistband of the men's trousers she had been wearing. She sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed the skin beneath the garment. Something was definitely stirring within her, and the feeling grew as the contact continued. _Stop this please_, she pleaded internally. _What are you trying to do to me, you rotten—thing, you… _

If it had been Jack in this situation surely she'd have already gotten a good rogering, that she was certain of. Yet here Beckett was, being ever so calm and yet causing ever so many strange feelings to be flooding her. Warm feelings. Tingly feelings. Hmph. Very odd indeed.

Beckett hooked the fingers of both hands to the waistband, and began applying a subtle pressure to the trousers—in a downward direction. Elizabeth immediately sensed this.

"What are you doing?" she cried, craning her neck to look back at the offending action.

He kept his hands where they were, but she did not try to remove them.

"I happen to believe that two lashes with the cat o' nine tails, one upon an already painful wound, are hardly equal to… let's say, five slaps on a layer of cloth."

"Do you not have any sense of decency, of propriety?" she said, her voice laced with danger.

"Of course I do. However, that was long abandoned upon your voluntary decision to lose all sense of propriety with me. And if I have to explain that to you, that's all the more reason for you to be punished."

_Oh God. _His own words were triggering a rather unfortunate series of events in him that might or might not soon be evident to Elizabeth. Maybe he shouldn't try to remove anything of Elizabeth's. He might not make it. But then again, when _was_ the last time he had made it, come to think of it….

He began applying the downward pressure there, as the fabric very subtly lowered.

"No!" she exclaimed. "I refuse to let you do this!" She began to pull her body up off his lap, but he held her down with steady pressure of his hands on her lower back.

"The longer this takes the more likely someone will see you," he said teasingly. She froze. _What if Jack walked down and saw this?_ She'd never hear the last of it. Beckett would surely be killed. Truth to tell, so might she as well. Or maybe Jack would want to do the exact same to her as Beckett was now doing….

"They'd see you as well, you bloody fool! You'd be killed!" she cried.

"Then so be it," he replied coolly. His calmness under extreme pressure unnerved her. _I do believe that he does not care whether he lives or dies,_ she mused._ I, on the other hand, do care. I'm only doing this so that I can stay aboard this ship and keep the peace—at least until we finally reach the mainland, _she told herself._ This means nothing other than that. This is just like when I kissed Jack, just a bit more—odd. _

She lowered back down onto his legs again, positioning her hips over his left thigh. This time, when he moved his hand to the waistband, she did not react. The steady downward pressure was again applied, and soon Beckett had a full view of Elizabeth's rump, which was already starting to flush with embarrassment, more than likely.

He shut his eyes tightly after taking in the view, taking slow, deep breaths. _Cutler, you've got to contain yourself. You've to play down this moment, this situation, just as you have every other highly… stressful situation._ He raised his left hand to strike the soft flesh, holding a breath as he brought his hand down with a sting upon Elizabeth's derriere, causing warmth to flood both his skin as well as hers. She reacted to the flesh-on-flesh slap with a slight contraction of the muscles, but nothing more. A slightly cold sensation had also occurred, due to Beckett's ring also making contact with her backside. The slap had made a decently loud sound, but what with the sound of the capstan now being turned, no one would have heard it. It was a good thing Beckett had brought them to the hold, which was the furthest away from everyone else on the ship. And he had locked the trapdoor to the hold from the inside. Not that Elizabeth needed to know that, of course….

_Oh, God_, she mused. _I daresay that was more… enjoyable than painful. _Realization hit her at the inappropriateness of the thought. _Oh, what's the matter with me?_ The physical response she was having to this very intimate punishment was startling to her, and she was frightened. _I wonder how many more of these remain. I've already lost count_….

He raised his hand up again and brought it down forcefully, feeling the delightful sting on his fingers. How many had he told her there'd be? He wasn't sure he could take doing this any more without causing her a great deal of discomfort, and not in the spanking sense, either….

Two more spanks and Elizabeth's entire lower body was humming with activity, thick with… desire. Most definitely. She was actually aching… aching for Beckett? Yes. Yes, she was. The frankness of her own mind amazed her. _I hope he decides on more…or moves on to other… related activities. Oh, God, I must be out of my mind…._

Beckett swallowed loudly, preparing to announce the final blow. His breathing rate had definitely quickened, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Certainly his heart was supplying ample blood supply to—

"Last one," he heard himself say, his voice husky with desire. Oh, how many months had it been—how many _years _had it been, since he had felt this way? Too many to count, that was for sure.

It was then that Elizabeth shifted on his lap so that her rump was now slightly elevated on his thigh, her skin showing off four distinct red handprints.

_Oh, dear... oh no!_ his mind shouted, realizing the immediate consequence of her presenting her rump to him in such a… a _sensual_ way. She was enjoying this too! _Oh dear; it's been far, far too long… _Pulses of pleasure were coursing through his system with each second that passed. _I'd better push her off me as soon as possible_. With all the strength he could muster, he straightened his legs beneath her and gently pushed her so that her body would roll down his legs a bit….

Upon her rolling, the frontal aspect of her lower body was most certainly exposed to Beckett. She stopped rolling at his knees, feeling embarrassed that Beckett most likely had seen the front of her—and looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. Beckett's eyes were shut, face flushed with a slight sheen of sweat, mouth slightly open as she heard his every quivering breath. He had since leaned back on his hands, his eyes remaining firmly shut.

_What was he doing—oh my…_ realization hit her._ He was enjoying this! But why did he have to stop—_

As soon as the words entered her brain she felt a surge of guilt. She looked back at Beckett, watching his Adam's apple bob indicative of swallowing. _He most certainly enjoyed that,_ she thought bitterly. _Maybe one or two swats more, and I could be in that state… but no…._

After a short time, Beckett cautiously opened his eyes, one at a time, to find Elizabeth in the region of his knees, on her stomach and still exposed, staring at him intently. Immediately a thought crossed his mind, at the state of her undress. _Why had she not fixed her bree—_ Embarrassment flooded him, and all colour left his face, at her intense gaze. She had watched his whole response. _Oh dear… Does she know?_ He gulped, eyes falling from her face. He was ashamed. He couldn't believe that things had gone quite this far. Oh, he'd _imagined_ situations like this in his mind, but to actually experience it was a far different story…. And now she had witnessed his very personal response—

"We're not even," Elizabeth said breathily, her voice barely above a whisper, disappointment in her eyes. He gaped at her, his mouth dropping open ever so slightly. Oh, just that positioning, just that type of talk—he couldn't be readying again so soon, could he?

"W-what do you mean," he said, stammering like a schoolboy. His throat constricted as he heard his own quivering breaths.

"I think five more would make us even," she replied, her voice low and even breathier than before. Her heartbeat drowned out her being able to hear her own voice, blood pulsing in regions of her body she had never even thought had a heartbeat. Every inch of her skin was buzzing and highly sensitive. His heart caught in his throat.

"What," he involuntarily sputtered, hearing his heart pounding in his ears. He mouth dropped open as he watched her shift her body up his leg until she was again positioned over his thighs. She elevated her backside once more in a sort of sensual presentation. He shut his eyes again, trying ever so hard to compose himself… and failing miserably.

"Aren't you going to ask me why," she said teasingly, turning her head to look upwards at him under her eyelashes, murmuring in a breathy whisper, much like when she had almost seduced Jack into kissing her. He opened his eyes immediately to see her looking at him again, and gulped.

"No," he replied curtly, eyelids heavy, lifting his hand robotically as he blinked several times. It was all he could say at the moment. Elizabeth Turner—young, beautiful, _naughty_ Elizabeth Turner—wanted to be spanked by him. All the blood had certainly left his brain, pooling elsewhere….

He brought his hand down, causing jolting sensations to run up and down Elizabeth's spine upon feeling the sting of the slap. She licked her lips, taking in all of the lovely sensations flooding her entire being. Never had she felt this—good. No one had ever done this sort of thing to her before—not even in her childhood. Maybe because she missed this experience she was now reacting to it in such a way. But then, imagining Will in Beckett's place right now almost turned her off completely.

_I'd have positioned myself across Will's lap, and he'd be goggling at me most likely, his mouth probably slightly agape all the while. I'd look back at him as seductively as possible from my position, and he'd gape back at me, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Guess he gets that from his father…._

"_Haven't I been bad enough, Will?" I'd say. "I've done some very naughty things while you've been away." And this would indeed be true…. _

_His face would turn beet-red and his eyebrows would be stitched with concern._

"_So?" I'd add in a whisper, lifting my rump just a little higher up, letting it brush against his trembling hand. I think that was the point when Beckett was set off all the way. But Will—_

_Suddenly his eyes would go wide and he'd try to push me off, as I'd ask him why and try to remain in place._

"_Because this is very inappropriate, Elizabeth," he'd say. "I would never want to hurt you."_

"_But you _won't_ be hurting me, Will. I tend to think you'd do the opposite, in fact."_

_His face would be all twisted with innocence and he'd look at me with a look of pure bland romance and undying devotion and he'd shake his head slowly, making me feel like some sort of insolent child… but in a negative way… unlike how Beckett worded it, or was it the _way_ he said it?_

"_I just can't get this feeling that by striking you, I'd be hurting you. I just can't—"_

_This would be the point that I would lose all interest and would roll off of him, redressing in my new self-conscious state._

"_Aren't you happy enough…making love?" he'd say, his eyes all puppy-dog big, seriousness on his thin lips. "We only have this one day—" he'd continue, as he'd stand up as well._

_I wouldn't be able to help but roll my eyes at his inexcusable purity of thought. Absolutely no naughty side, no adventurous side to him at all. Not a peek of it in all the years I've known him, actually, except when he's on a mission to save his bloody father…. And the worst thing of all, this one bloody day once every ten years, to repeat the same scenario… Or, as Beckett pointed out, probably only twice more I'd even be interested in that sort of play._

Unlike Will, there was some sort of naughtiness, a hint of sadism about Beckett's ways. And, of course, that mischievous little smirk he was always flashing. Just thinking that Beckett was flashing that naughty grin across his face right now made her body stir with excitement once again. Beckett, smirking down at me with those full lips of his… unlike Will's everlasting somber thin-lipped grimace.

But, even so…what could Beckett be doing to her to be causing this? Maybe it was just the human contact… But then again, maybe not. How was it possible to feel this good without actually doing anything? She wanted to push Beckett, to see how far he'd go with this….

"I've been very bad," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. There was certainly truth to her words, and yet, uttering them made her feel ever so scandalously _good_.

Beckett sucked in a breath and held it, gaping down at Elizabeth lustfully and yet, blinking in disbelief at what she had just said. _She's coming on to me. There's no denying that._ He couldn't even move his arm, wanting nothing more than to push her off his lap and proceed to ravage her—

She peeked back at him, eyelids heavy with desire—and anticipation. He looked at her gazing up at him from beneath those eyelashes, her rump fully exposed to him. _Come on, Cutler; she expects you to say something back. _

"You'll only learn your lesson from a sound spanking," he heard himself say huskily, as he lifted his arm again, using sheer willpower to keep from losing control. _Four more, and then I'll have done my duty and can then have her—_

Again his palm struck her bare skin. _I'm going to explode_, she thought, her skin having become ultrasensitive to the skin of the palm of his hand. And hearing his low, husky voice speaking to her in such a way only made the impending explosion more certain….

Instead of lifting his hand again, however, Beckett was now running his hand smoothly over her warmed skin. She shut her eyes, her mind a complete blank. His hand squeezed flesh, not forcefully, but definitely noticeably. _Oh my, oh Lord… Beckett, that is!_ All of a sudden, the tingly pressure that had been building within her was released. It felt like every muscle in her body tensed and relaxed, and her physical reaction was not lost on Beckett. She may have even made a sound in the process, but all worldly senses had temporarily been blocked by all that she was feeling inside.

In reply to Elizabeth's raspy breathing and quivery moan, and the feeling of flesh squeezed between his fingers, Beckett promptly experienced a similar situation as he had before—once again. This time, he held his breath, for fear of revealing himself as a quivering mess. He didn't push her away this time. She looked too much at peace.

Elizabeth lay stretched out on his lap, in the afterglow of the moment. Within a minute or two she came to her senses and pulled her breeches back up, however staying in position.

_Oh, I can't believe that just happened_, she mused, feeling a flush of embarrassment filling her face. _But wow._

She scooted her body off so that she was now beside a seated Beckett, his legs stretched out straight in front of him.

Her eyes wandered cautiously up to his face. He had been staring off into space, but upon noticing her looking at him, he glanced tentatively at her, his eyes quickly becoming downcast.

_I think that if he pounced on me right now, I wouldn't fight it…._

After several more seconds, they exchanged sheepish glances. He was still in stunned disbelief. It was his turn to make the move, but he remained glued to the floor, lost deep within a head empty of all thought.

Elizabeth was the first to rise to her feet, dusting the dirt off of her breeches. Beckett's hope of having his way with her fell onto the floor upon the realization that she was now standing. He soon followed in standing, pulling his shirt down as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"So," she stammered, trying to catch her breath. "We have to make it seem that I did what I was supposed to do."

"And what was that," he said in a trance, not able to think of much else other than the sensations he had felt only minutes before. With Elizabeth Turner, of all people. Sensual, naughty, Elizabeth Turner…. with a manipulative, stubborn mind much like his own….

"First, we'll have to go back to the brig," she said. "Then I'll proceed to flog your shirt so that it gets lash marks."

"No," he suddenly blurted, startling her. "I'd prefer to keep it on, if that's quite alright," he added hastily.

She was shocked, and her face showed it. _How dare he—_

"But you agreed—"

"You can just flog it where it is," he replied curtly. "I just implore you not to put as much force behind it, please."

Beckett looked utterly sheepish. Elizabeth's jaw dropped.

She grabbed the back of his shirt as he began to ascend the ladder to the brig. "Why won't you just take it—"

"No," he said, looking back at her as if stung. He couldn't take off his shirt because that would expose the traces of a rarely experienced mess. "I'll react as if you're hitting me harder than you are."

"Alright," she said, confused by his insistence on leaving the shirt on. Even so, she followed him to the brig wordlessly.

She laid seven stripes on him, rather meekly, she had to admit, hearing his mock whimpering and yelps with each new blow.

After almost every lash, Beckett would turn his head and look at Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye. Although Elizabeth noticed each and every time he did so, the way he was making her insides stir with excitement forced her to ignore these glances, and continue. _It's possible someone is listening...not that that had mattered before, of course_, she mused a bit guiltily.

Although the lashings had not been forceful, they had dealt a couple of slices to his shirt and even a few drops of blood.

After it was all over and she was to leave, Beckett moved towards her, causing her to turn to face him.

She looked at him expectantly, confused at the strange new feelings she now associated with his face… with his hand.

He allowed for his eyes to meet hers. His expression was dead serious.

"Thank you," he said, in a low murmur, heavily suggestive.

Her expression was mildly suspicious.

"For what?" she said, fearful of what he was going to say. _Please don't mention what just happened, _she mused._ I'm still in utter shock that I allowed for all that to hap—well, that I _did_ all that, actually. _

His mind went blank, his throat went bone-dry and his tongue became like chalk in his mouth.

"Well—if you… if you must know," he stammered, swallowing loudly. "…for saving me from being thrown overboard, and for taking it easy on my back, at least, the _second_ time—"

She gave him a nod, half a smile appearing on her face.

"You're wel—" she began to say with a sigh of relief, but he interrupted her.

"—as well as for other things," he added with a naughty little smirk, watching her face flush as most likely his own was doing at the moment.

Seeing his smirk appearing now caused stirrings within her, in rather inappropriate places. She felt lightheadedness coming on, but instead crossed her arms and kept her jaw set. _This is not the time nor place for this sort of thing_, she mused, forcing herself to remain level-headed.

_If she would just give me the slightest hint of wanting more, I'd be most happy to oblige_, Beckett thought, as he watched her cross her arms. _Ah… too little, too late on my part, I suppose. What a bloody shame…_

Their faces seemed to linger in space—and then Elizabeth flashed him a sheepish smile and took off up the ladder without another word.

* * *

Okay. There you are, folks. Phew. (that last word was a sigh of relief)

Preview for next chapter:

Barbossa watched Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye as he spoke.

"'Tis a good idea, Jack, an' bein' as good ideas fer ye are few an' far-between, I'll agree to this'n."


	13. Compass And Conversation

A/N: Yay! I'm glad the last chapter turned out to be a success! I apologize for the slower update on this one, but I've been working this chapter a good deal, adding things, etc, up until about a half-hour ago!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter! That sort of feedback gives me confidence to write and post segments like that again, although none are lined up at the moment…

Well, here is the next installation!

Chapter 13: Compass and Conversation

Warnings: cursin'

* * *

Upon Elizabeth's leave, Beckett practically fell backwards onto a barrel in the brig, the images of what had just occurred running through his head. He suddenly felt exhausted. _However, I need to clean up before I can go to sleep._ Thankfully the makeshift porthole supplied him with ample water and soon he was curled up on his hammock, wanting so badly to sleep but his brain teeming with thoughts, images, _feelings_…. Never had he felt so utterly… flustered.

_Elizabeth bloody Turner._ He had never felt such feelings wash over him so quickly, and so close in proximity to each other…. _Why oh why didn't I take that just a bit further? I could've done so. I know she was waiting for it… Although, I do admit, I guess I _am_ rather rusty at that sort of thing by this point. Let's see; how long has it been?_ He counted his fingers silently, frowning and pursing his lips as he raised finger after finger on his left hand, then his right. He glared at the standing fingers, shaking his head. _I'm not even going to think about just how pitiful that is_, he mused. _I could have had any woman I wanted._ _Anyone would have been happy to marry the lord of the East India Trading Company. But no. First I wasted my time with that bloody Azores wench, and then I wasted the remainder of my life chasing those bastard pirates all over the seas_.

_But then… I get my chance, with a governor's young, beautiful… dirty daughter, no less… and I blow it—twice, as a matter of fact—in rather quick succession. Bloody hell. I need to regain my endurance, if I hope to keep up with her insatiability. I'm not as young as I once was, nor as experienced as I probably should be at this point.…_

_But do I really think that sort of thing is ever going to happen again? Elizabeth allowing for me to—well, actually _wanting_ me to spank her. Ha. Maybe if I just think of it as only a dream, it'll make reality easier to bear. _

_I have priorities, damn it. And none of them consist of my remaining here—or remaining near Elizabeth, for that matter. The Azores is where this all will end—and where my new life will begin. My redemption. Because that's what I want most… right? _

_I wonder where Jack's compass is…. That'll clear things up rather quickly… but then again, how does a compass point to something such as redemption? _

He sighed, realizing how impossible it'd be for him to know these things. He then looked at the ring on his finger, the representation of his old life. The ring he had acquired upon becoming lord of the East India Trading Company.

_The compass should point to my ring, which would represent what I want back. When I get a hold of the confounded thing, I'm going to hold it in the hand without the ring. To make sure that I can see for certain…._

Elizabeth retreated to her cabin to briefly compose herself before meeting up with the other members of the ship. She looked too flushed and felt too lightheaded to be comfortable walking amongst her unknowing crewmates.

_Oh, I can't believe how much I enjoyed that. Oh, but with Lord Cutler bloody Beckett of all people…. What if my nausea is a serious ailment, and I'm dying? I think if that is the case, then there must be a reprise to what occurred earlier today…. But then, if I don't see Beckett, I can't be tempted… But then, I have more than nine years to wait to do anything again. He's right about everything…. I've signed my entire life away. _

_I need to stop thinking, stop hoping, stop rationalizing. Need to get away from my thoughts, for once. To get away from this odd new hope I have. Hope is a dangerous thing._

Jack spotted her as she ascended to the main deck.

"So, how'd it go?" he said. She had silently worked out her automatic responses in her head beforehand, rehearsing them in her room to be sure they sounded convincing.

"He won't be lying to you again," she said, giving him a little smile.

"Ye beat 'im that bad, did ye," he replied, cringing a bit.

"Well, I hope I have set your mind at ease."

"It is, luv; it is. 'Course, I'll have to be certain you didn't kill the little prig, though that would not be a sad thing to hear… but yes, you have set my mind at ease."

"Good. How much longer before we arrive?" she asked him, hopefully segueing successfully.

"Should be there by th' next sunrise," he replied. "I thought we were a bit closer, but I was mistaken."

Her insides sort of flopped down into the bottom of her stomach. She had wanted to get some fresh air, wanted to get away from the crew, and now that she had done this thing with Beckett, to get away from him. But he was going to bring her to the doctor, she quickly remembered. Egh, she was going to be continually embarrassed around him until this whole ordeal was over. Well, not embarrassed, really…perhaps reminiscent? Perhaps even a bit fluttery in the stomach?

Barbossa soon ascended above deck, eyeing her up as if she could attack him at any second.

She just looked right back at him, unable to speak. Hopefully he hadn't stolen a glance, or heard anything earlier….

"Mrs. Turner," he said in a very formal tone, "I take it that ye carried out the punishment on Mr. Beckett."

"Yes," she said curtly, feeling her face getting hot.

"I heard 'is whimperin's at a point, so's you must've been layin' it on 'im pretty good," he replied, the look on his face showing suspicion.

Jack looked at Barbossa.

"Is that right?"

"Aye," Barbossa replied, looking at Jack. "'Tweren't the loudest o' whimperin's an' yelps, but they be noticeable all the same."

Jack turned to Elizabeth and gave her a smile. Barbossa continued.

"However, I recall not hearin' the sound o' th' tails. I know them to be a good bit loud when strikin' flesh."

She was prepared for this, fortunately.

"That is because I flogged him over his shirt," she said, a true statement. _And not only that, I barely put any force behind it. Not that I need to mention that, of course._

Barbossa gave her a nod of understanding. Hopefully his curiosity was satiated. Jack looked satisfied as well.

"I take it the prig is nursin' 'is wounds as we speak," Jack ventured to say, noticing no sign of Beckett.

"I'd assume so," Elizabeth replied, feeling much more at ease.

Jack and Barbossa were both a bit leery of the situation, though neither was about to make that obvious to Elizabeth. Besides, they couldn't reveal how much it irked them in their respective ways to imagine flirtation between Elizabeth and their enemy. A common fear existed in the troubling aspect of how or _if_ Turner could even learn of this betrayal—if the betrayal was actually occurring.

* * *

Elizabeth, Barbossa, Jack, and Gibbs ate a late lunch in Jack's cabin. When Jack had retreated hungrily to the hold to fetch the food, he thought he smelled an odd smell but didn't think much else of it because of his growling stomach. And he didn't even notice Beckett sleeping in the brig in his hammock on his way down or back up to his cabin. The depressing fact was that these last few pieces of food he was able to acquire were the last food products aboard the ship.

Jack returned to his cabin, holding four sticks of saltpork in his hand, but no other food. Elizabeth, Barbossa, and Gibbs prepared to take a seat. Wordlessly Jack passed out two pieces of saltpork to each of the stunned people around the table, and then sat down, immediately biting into the dehydrated meat. Barbossa and Gibbs followed, Elizabeth slightly hesitating before being seated. Jack looked at this with interest, but forgot soon enough after Barbossa turned to face him, his face twisted into a furious scowl.

Barbossa glared at Jack, not yet touching his food.

"Where be the rest o' the food," he growled, watching Jack continue to fill his mouth with the unappetizing cuisine.

"Gone," Jack said, his mouth stuffed full.

"What are ye sayin'? That this is all we have left?"

"Aye," Jack said with a muffled tone, the food still in his mouth, "but once we arrive in th—"

"This trip best not be a failure, Jack. Or else ye'll be the firs' crewmate we sacrifice."

Jack cringed a bit but continued to chew quite loudly. Elizabeth could see why Jack had stuffed his face quickly, because if Barbossa hadn't spoken up, she would have… had she not felt the scandalous sting upon sitting down. It was making her paranoid that she was able to feel this and yet no one knew what had happened, how her flesh was buzzing once again… though they would be made aware of it if she made it obvious. She in turn stuffed her mouth full, keeping silent. Jack then spoke, as if having an epiphany.

"I just thought o' something. Th' perfect way to buy us back some food."

Barbossa looked on with interest, a bit perturbed by the word _buy_.

"By cashin' in on our livin' breathin' reward, o' course," he said smilingly.

Barbossa gave him a knowing nod. Although he hated giving in to being an honest member of society (for once), he wasn't comfortable with what was potentially happening between Beckett and their _Dutchman_'s bride, and so he wholeheartedly supported ridding the ship of Beckett. He watched Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye as he spoke.

"'Tis a good idea, Jack, an' bein' as good ideas fer ye are few an' far-between, I'll agree to this'n."

"Great. It's settled then. I shall be informing our traitorous cohorts of their duty in due time."

"Ye shan't inform 'em o' their duties while they be aboard the _Pearl_, Jack. Be best t' wait until we're on land an' Beckett's in custody."

_Oh, no. What about the doctor?_ Elizabeth mused, feeling a twinge of nausea at the thought that she might be sick or even dying, and not getting the proper treatment for it. But she couldn't allow for anyone else to feel sorry for her. No, she couldn't make them see her vulnerability. It had taken her long enough to establish her equality aboard the _Pearl_, and she couldn't let it slip now. Especially if this problem was a petty one, which it could very well be.

Suddenly Jack turned to Barbossa and spoke, pointing a finger at the taller captain.

"Wot's different about your face," he said to a stubble-free Barbossa, who had a little black scab on his cheekbone.

Elizabeth almost choked on the saltpork she was chewing.

Barbossa glanced at her with interest, and looked at Jack.

"Got a shave," he said.

"Couldn't've been Marty," Jack countered. "He doesn't shave that close—but then again, he also doesn't nick."

Barbossa gave Elizabeth a big toothy smile of confidence.

"Mrs. Turner did me the honour," he began.

Jack looked at her inquisitively.

"An' how did this come about, pray tell?"

She held her breath, frightened as to how much he'd divulge. Barbossa continued his explanation.

"I asked her, an' she did it." He flashed his big smile at Jack now.

The dreadlocked captain touched his own facial hair thoughtfully.

"Now, there's no need fer her to work on yer beard," Barbossa shot, "bein' as ye can't even grow a respectable one."

"When it comes to beards, less is more," Jack replied, looking unaffected. "Th' more beard, the older ye look. So you look to be aroun'… seventy, perhaps?"

"Yer theory's already shot," Barbossa said. "Yer nowhere in range."

"How old are ye, anyway?" Gibbs timidly asked.

"Le's jus' say, old enough t' be able to refrain from admittin' to me age. It's a rare thing these days, a pirate gettin' pas' middle age."

"Ain't that th' truth," Jack said, shortly before picking up a bottle of rum, uncorking it, and pouring it down his throat.

Elizabeth made a decision. _I am going to sneak off the ship early with Beckett so that he can take me to this doctor, and then return rather early to the _Pearl_, so as not to arouse suspicions when he is to be taken in for the reward. We need that reward badly right now, being as most of us are probably suffering from starving to death_. She touched her own stomach, which was bloated-looking. Full of air, more than likely. _Yes, that is what I shall do. It'd be for the greater good of everyone… save for Beckett…. He can never divulge what happened in the hold if he's not around to divulge…. _

_But he and I are even now. Doing that would quite tip the scale in my direction. Oh bother, why do I even care? _

She paused.

_Why _do_ I care what happens to him, anyway?_

* * *

Later on that evening Jack and Elizabeth ventured to the brig, Elizabeth following Jack with a sort of dread. How was Beckett going to act? Was he going to allude to something happening between them? Or would he keep his vow… not that he had a reason to do so, being as she had previously broken hers.

The pair stumbled down to the brig, awakening Beckett from his slumber in the hammock. Rather than pull out weapons and tumble out of the hammock, though, Beckett just opened his eyes to mere slits, smacked his lips together quite loudly, and pulled the frockcoat that was covering him as a makeshift blanket up closer under his chin.

"Beckett," Jack said coaxingly. Elizabeth touched Jack's arm.

"Let him sleep, Jack. He's had enough for one day."

"We arrive on the morrow. He best be above deck to help us sail into port," Jack said, looking at the motionless figure in the hammock.

Although he remained completely still, Beckett was fully awake. He had remained all day in the dank brig, not daring to set foot elsewhere. It was rather enjoyable rehashing the earlier activities, rather than have them shot to pieces by a nasty sneer from Elizabeth, or something along those lines….

However, his curiosity for the compass was literally aching him inside. He wanted to know for certain what his greatest desire was, if only to put his mind at ease.

_I feel like such a fool having to have such a thing confirmed by a bloody compass,_ he mused, hearing Elizabeth and Jack breathing ever so softly as they watched his lounging form. _Even so, I must know. _

She stared at Beckett fearfully, watching Jack pace across the room.

"What's wrong, Jack?" she asked, nervous at his hesitancy to leave the brig. She just wanted to get out of there and avoid any retribution. After all, it had been rather nice to think about herself and Beckett involved in a scandal that only lovers could participate in, and any look he gave her not reflecting naughtiness or secrecy would dash her daydreams.

"I think that rum would help me think," he replied.

"But in your thinking that rum will help you think, you're actually already thinking, and thus, you need no help."

He looked totally lost for a moment, and then seemed to understand her statement all at once. His eyes lit up and he smiled at her, a corner of his mouth upturned in a very handsome grin.

"Luv, that sounds an awful lot like somethin' I would say," he murmured, watching Elizabeth smile back at him. "I guess I'm rubbin' off on ye, eh?"

Beckett rolled his eyes under his eyelids.

"Well, the thing is, Jack… I don't think we have any more," she stated very carefully, remembering an argument that Cotton and Pintel had gotten into earlier in the day over Cotton's drinking the last drops of rum on the ship. In response to her revelation, Jack gaped at her, skin paling noticeably. After several seconds of silently staring at her, though, his colour returned, and he sighed.

"What? Did you think of something?" Elizabeth said.

"Actually, yes I did. My secret stores…" He gave her a smile, and began to move past her, towards the ladder to the hold.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Where else? To get me rum, o' course."

She watched him descend the steps. _I can't help but feel like that the hold is now a place of scandal_, she said. _Oh, I cannot believe what happened down there…._ She looked back at Beckett with a coy smile.

Simultaneously upon Jack's disappearance into the brig, Beckett sat up in his hammock, nearly scaring the wits out of Elizabeth. _Here goes… where's the odd expression he'll flash me any moment now?_

He looked at her with wide eyes, and put a finger to his lips upon watching her mouth fall open. She gaped at him, as he appeared to be fearful—of being caught by Jack. This felt scandalous indeed. A heavy little secret they had between them. But there was something else. Had he been waiting for this moment? Was he going to lock Jack in the hold and have his way with her?

_Why is my heart pounding like I just ran a mile in a corset?_ she mused, watching him ever so slowly crane his neck to view her straight-on, beckoning her over with the finger that had been on his lip only moments before.

She approached timidly.

"What's this all about?" she whispered in a raspy, yet high-pitched tone.

"I need you to do something for me," he said. Watching her jaw drop again, he cleared his throat quietly. His expression was dead serious. "Please."

At the sound of those words coming out of Beckett's mouth, Elizabeth's mind couldn't help but jump to rather peculiar conclusions. Did he have some other dirty idea in mind? Was he going to make her kiss him or something?

"What," she heard herself say in a croaky whisper. _Wait—I'm already agreeing to this?_

"I want you to get something of Jack's for me." He bit his lower lip, looking up at her as she stood beside the hammock. She crossed her arms, half disappointed.

"And what would that be?"

"His compass. He keeps it on his—"

"Why."

He flashed her a look of utter exasperation, and exhaled rather forcefully.

"Because."

"He's going to notice that it's gone, you know."

"I only need it for a short while. It'll be returned to him before he's aware of its absence."

She smirked at him.

"Do you not know what you want?" she said, eyeing him suggestively. He felt his heart pump out of rhythm. _It figures. And I had hoped she _hadn't_ learnt the purpose of that stupid instrument. Seems like she knows something about everything. Bloody hell; what is she trying to do to me…. _

"It's not that. I'm just not certain of where it is at the moment," he replied snappishly.

"What a pitiful excuse. I can see right through it. It's all in your eyes, you know," she said in a whisper, leaning towards him.

He gave her quite the nasty glare.

"Tell me; what do my eyes say _now_?"

"Now, that's not very nice," she said in a tsking tone. "It's quite the shame that you have to resort to the compass to know your own—"

"What about you, hmm? I find it rather vexing that a married woman was participating in an activity that—"

"You blackmailed me!"

"And yet, you enjoyed it all the same. You can't possibly expect me to believe that you didn't like what was going on. _It was all in your eyes, you know_," he replied with a smirk, mocking her earlier statement.

She looked taken aback, mouth agape, colour flooding into her cheeks and forehead. Even so, the smirk remained on his face as he watched her expression go from that of shock to ire.

He watched as she raised a hand to slap him and flinched away a bit too quickly, the fast motion and sudden weight shift on the hammock causing it to flip over, spilling him to the floor. Immediately he was embarrassed. He hadn't meant to flinch with quite that much rigor. And now he was flat on his face on the floor, Elizabeth standing above him, a triumphant grin on her face. _Ha. And I hadn't even actually planned on following through with the slap, because well—he's right. Even so, he's quite the coward, I must say._

"If I'd have known I'd be asked so many bloody questions, I would have just done it myself," he muttered grumpily, getting to his knees. "I should know by now that I can't trust you to do me a fa—"

She was absolutely fuming. This time she was willing, and her slap found its mark. Beckett took the slap to his cheek with no more than a slight turn of the head, even though it had been rather unexpected. _What's he going to do now? I shouldn't have done that. Oh, God, he's probably going to reveal everything to Jack now…._ Elizabeth watched, shocked, as a smirk reappeared on his face, having only temporarily disappeared before the slap.

"So… _Missus Elizabeth Turner_. You do like to play rough. I must say, I rather like that aspect of your—"

The creaking of the ladder boards could be heard as Jack climbed the steps. Without hesitation, Beckett shut his mouth and crawled on his hands and knees over to a dark corner behind the hold's ladder to the brig. He was smiling, for his white teeth glinted in the dim glow of Jack's approaching lantern light. Elizabeth watched as he positioned himself on one knee, facing the direction that Jack would be crossing.

"What in God's name are you doing?" Elizabeth hissed angrily at him. Suddenly realization struck. _Oh, no. He's going to snatch Jack's compass! And I'll just be standing here, gaping at him all the while as if I had a part in it._

As the top of Jack's hat appeared, Elizabeth ran for the stairs.

"Jack," she said insistently.

"Wot, luv?"

She could see that he was carrying two bottles of rum, one covered in a strange slimy green substance, the other one soaking wet with what smelled like stagnant seawater. Apparently he had hidden his stows quite well. The compass dangled at his waist, tethered with a miniature leather belt to his own belt. How in the world was she going to convince him to give up the compass without arousing suspicion?

He took the last couple of steps up the ladder, walking right at her so as to cause her to back up several steps.

"I was just wondering—where do you hide your rum?"

Surprisingly, he began to laugh.

"Wot? You plannin' on torchin' the rest o' me stows? Sorry, luv. I must stay mum about me rum." He laughed again, making her face twist up with confusion.

"I'm quite clever, aren't I? Didja hear that? A rather good phrase, that was. If my hands weren't full wiv tryin' to hold these slimy things, I'd say that statement deserved a nice long swig o' rum."

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched Beckett creep up behind and to the side of Jack, hand outstretched towards the compass. She immediately focused on Jack, so as not to arouse suspicion.

"That was really clever, Jack," she said. _I have to think._ _Jack cannot move further into the brig, because then he'll see Beckett's absence from the hammock. And of course what happened will then be revealed 'in my eyes'._ _I can't risk that._

"Are those your last bottles of rum?"

He looked at his hands, a bottle clutched in each one. He then glanced at her with a hint of suspicion.

"No," he replied, looking back at her. "As a matter of fact they are not. Always have to plan ahead to ensure a constant supply of rum."

Beckett's hand was now on the leather strap that held the compass to Jack's belt. He reached his other hand out to remove the object as steadily as possible.

"But we've run out of food, Jack. I tend to think that food is—"

"I know wot you're gonna say, luv, but it's not true that food is any more important than rum. It was rum that saved both you an' I both while on Rumrunner's island; do you not recall? Not food."

"Well, that was because I used it to make a signal fire—"

"That matters not. It's th' principle of th' thing," he said, lifting a finger from its clutch around the neck of the grimier-looking bottle. "The firs' time I was stuck there, th' rum was th' reason that the rumrunners returned, an' thus, enabled my escape from th' bloody place. It was neither coconuts nor crabs nor sea turtle—"

"Even though you claim that you escaped using them," she murmured, an amused grin on her face. He looked mildly affronted.

"A claim that only you an' I know is a mere claim. However, it makes a rather good story, so let's not spoil th' adventure of it all for everyone else, savvy?"

Beckett had at this point pulled the compass off Jack's belt, and had snatched it away back into the darkness.

"Can I have some rum too?" Elizabeth asked him, looking behind Jack, down at the hold.

Jack glanced at the two bottles in his hands, and then grimaced.

"I would offer you one of mine, but one is not nearly enough for me to—"

"It's alright. I understand. But can you get me another one? I'll allow you to keep your secret by staying put right here."

He gave her a look of confusion, then suspicion, and then, upon realizing he might just be getting drunk with Elizabeth Turner tonight, flashed a broad smile.

"Alright, luv. However, I'm takin' these wiv me for the time bein'…"

She gave him a nod and a smile, and he whirled around, preparing to traverse to the hold again to fetch a bottle for her.

* * *

Closing his eyes in the darkness in a silent prayer, Beckett flipped open the lid of the compass as quietly as he could manage, holding the item away from his ring so that he could see it point there for certain. The arrow spun. It paused momentarily, spun around again and stopped on its target. It didn't move again. Scoffing quietly, he shut the lid, gave the compass a little shake, and opened it again to see the same result. This time the arrow hadn't even paused anywhere else first.

_Oh, God. I feel ill. Ugh, where's the bloody ginger when you need it?_

As Jack descended to the hold again, Beckett slid the compass across the floor. _Just get that rubbish away from me_, he mused, watching it stop right in front of the entrance to the hold. _Perfect. Now Jack can assume that he dropped it._

Elizabeth watched the compass stop by the entrance to the hold, and could barely make out Beckett's sour expression in the darkness where he knelt.

"Not happy, are we?" she said teasingly, though quietly.

He stood up, moving into the light, a smile on his face.

"Actually, I'm quite happy in fact, being as I didn't even have to ambush Captain Sparrow to achieve my goal. You did quite a good job, I must say."

"I didn't do it for _you_," she shot.

"Why don't you pick up the compass then, being as you worked _so_ hard to acquire it for yourself. I'm curious as to know what you want most."

"Why do you assume it's going to point at something obvious?" she hissed, eyes narrowed. She really didn't like where this conversation was going. _I'm never going to touch that compass. Not for him to see… or for me… to see. I don't even want to know what it's going to say. However, I do wonder what the compass revealed to him._

"First, you must tell me what you want most," she said, "being as you just consulted the compass. You can't claim that it's not fresh in your mind."

"What I want cannot be pointed to by that bloody compass," he replied. "What I want is a nonphysical entity, a—"

_Oh, wow. What a liar! It _had_ to have pointed at something that he wasn't pleased with. Maybe even me… But wait—that's awfully presumptuous of me. Ha, to think that I matter that much to him because I tickled him and we exchanged secrets then he got to punish me and run his hand over—_

Suddenly the ladder to the hold creaked.

"Beckett, get back into the hammock! Jack is going to catch you!" she exclaimed in a whisper.

His face became quite sober, and he scampered back over to the hammock, plopping himself down on it as Jack reached the next to the last step of the ladder. Holding three bottles of rum now, one sticky with gruel, Jack looked down at the floor to the brig.

"Hey, wot's my compass doin' here—" he said aloud, though not specifically to Elizabeth or anyone in particular.

"It must have fallen off your belt. I noticed earlier that the strap seemed to only be holding on by a thread."

He placed the rum bottles on the ground and picked the round instrument up, reattaching the strap to his belt. _I didn' hear it fall, but maybe it fell while I was headed down these creaky stairs. They could very well have drowned out the sound._

"So, did you steal a peek, Lizzie?" he said to her, flashing her a dashing smile, as he picked the bottles back up off the floor and held them in outstretched hands.

"I actually only just noticed that it was lying there a second ago, so no. So, did you get me a bottle?"

"Aye. Which bottle do you prefer?"

She looked at the three bottles, each disgusting in its own way. After a short time, she pointed at the gruel-covered bottle. Jack handed it to her as if handing her his firstborn child. He watched her carefully as she held the neck of the bottle timidly, for it was covered in mushy lumps of pale food.

"What?" she said to him.

"Well, aren't you going to drink?"

"Not down here," she replied. "We can go upstairs, if you'd like."

"Right. We can do that. Y'know, it smells awful strange down in the hold. Have ye noticed that?"

"No." She felt her face flushing. "What's it smell like?"

"Smells like th' _Pearl_'s first night upon makin' berth in Tortuga," he replied. "Even though we've not had that particular run o' nighttime visitors for quite some time now…."

"Odd," she said, slowly. _He has quite the sense of smell. Hope he's not onto me…._

He continued speaking, wrinkling his nose a bit in the process.

"Maybe somethin' is rottin' in a mos' odd way. That's the only way I can see that particular smell becomin' present, bein' as it's impossible for it to have happened in th' Tortuga sense…."

"Well, shall we leave then? It's awfully dark down here," Elizabeth replied, feigning disinterest.

Thankfully Jack was more interested in watching her drink the rum than he was of further exploring the source of the odd smell.

* * *

After Jack and Elizabeth had left the brig, Beckett opened his eyes to the darkness of the brig.

_So we are very close now._ _All I have to do is sneak Elizabeth off the ship early in the day, and bring her right in. She's never been to Pico Island, so she won't have the foggiest idea where I'm taking her. She won't even be aware of what I've done until it's too late…. _

* * *

Did anyone notice a quote in there from a rather famous movie? I'll give you a hint: it stars Tim Robbins, but the quote is not his own.

I hope I'm keeping everyone in character. That's my only concern, that they don't say or do something totally unlike them, because then you, the reader, would be disappointed in the veering off of that characterization.

Oh, and before I forget:

Preview for chapter 14:

_Thank you for minding your own business_, Beckett mused, looking at the back of Elizabeth as she continued to walk down the street.


	14. The Azores

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

Chapter 14: The Azores

* * *

Elizabeth followed Jack reluctantly to his cabin, holding the malodorous bottle of rum between finger and thumb. _Perhaps the gruel stuck all over it rotted somehow_, she mused, keeping it at almost arm's length away from her.

Upon reaching his cabin, Jack opened the door for Elizabeth and allowed her to enter the room first. He shut the door behind him and walked to his desk, setting both bottles down. It was then that he noticed her manner of handling her bottle of rum. She set it down on the desk, and wiped her fingers on her breeches.

"Wot's wrong, luv?" he asked. "I assumed that by you sayin' you wanted rum, you actually wanted to have some."

"I do," she replied. "It's just—this bottle smells revolting."

"Have you not smelled stale gruel before?" Suddenly his eyes grew wide. "Its odor is… vaguely similar to this odor, actually…Not that th' bottle was in proximity of such a substance, o' course. Many other things can smell just like that."

Elizabeth nodded. As if she was going to dig through rotten food to find a bottle of rum. _Ha, indeed._

He held out a hand, immediately rendering her confused.

"Here, lemme clean it up for you. Wouldn' want a little gru—generic smell of rot— to spoil th' best drink there ever was."

He grabbed the red and white cloth tied about his waist and used the end of it to wipe the lumps of gruel off of the bottle.

"How did you _ever_ survive childhood without the best drink there ever was?" she asked.

"Wot are you talkin' about? I can't remember when rum was _not_ for th' takin'."

She was taken aback.

"You mean—your parents allowed you to drink rum?"

"Did you not notice my father, Cap'n Teague, at th' meeting o' th' Brethren Court? I don't recall seein' 'im drinkin' anythin' _but_ rum."

She remembered the man who had played the guitar and had staggeringly opened the book of pirate code. Yes, she could believe what Jack had told her.

Within a few moments, the bottle was again in front of her on the desk, cleaned of the gruel.

"Alright then, Lizzie. Drink up, me hearty, yo ho." He flashed her a dashing smile, uncorked his own bottle, and tilted it against his lips. She stood immobile, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down as he downed the contents of a bottle.

She uncorked her own bottle and lifted it tentatively to her lips, allowing for a tablespoon of the strong substance to run across her tongue. It hadn't yet gotten to the point when she could swig the substance, for it still burned a good deal when going down.

Upon finishing half the bottle, Jack looked up at Elizabeth, who had managed to drink about two shots' worth of the substance, enough to subtly heat her innards.

"Would you like to sit down?" he offered, pulling up a chair for her.

_I hope he doesn't expect me to drink this whole bottle_, she said. _I'm already nauseated enough every morning. No need to give myself another reason for sickness tomorrow…._

Jack sat across from Elizabeth at his desk, watching her eyes dart about the room nervously.

"Wot's wrong, Lizzie? You seem troubled."

"No, I'm fine," she told him, giving him a little smile, and then eyeing the bottle as if it was an adversary. "I think I'm just tired."

"Ah. It has been a long day," he said, "but we shall be arriving in just a few hours."

A strange look came over her face for only a fleeting second. Now that they were close enough, he could tell Elizabeth of his problem with the Azores. It wasn't because he didn't trust her; no one was trustworthy, not even himself; he simply knew that Beckett would try to drag the answer out of her. And, well, if Beckett knew, he would try to stir up things. Beckett's meddling could make things very bad indeed for him.

He leaned towards Elizabeth across the table, putting his hands on her own.

"Lizzie," he said, dead serious.

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

"My reasoning for not tellin' you about my problem wiv th' Azores was not because I don't trust you." He bit his tongue. In all honesty, he _didn't_ trust her, but that wasn't the major reason he had refrained from telling her.

Her eyes got a little wider and she looked at him with keen interest.

"I have th' problem wiv the Azores because, well… a former lover lives there," he stammered, though very quietly.

"Who is this… lover?" Anything was possible with Jack Sparrow, really.

"A girl I loved durin' a short period o' my youth. A real spitfire she was," he whispered, a tinge of excitement in his voice. "'Course, she'd slap me if she knew I was callin' her a girl."

"Did she die?"

He put his finger up.

"That I do not know."

"How long has it been since you've seen this girl?" she asked cautiously.

"I dunno. Couple o' decades by now, I'd think."

"Wow," Elizabeth said, her voice remaining low but definitely laced with excitement. She hadn't realized Jack was quite as old as he was revealing.

"Why did you leave her if you loved her?"

He frowned, and then looked at Elizabeth, his frown fading as he spoke.

"It's jus' my nature, luv. I cannot be tied down for very long to any one thing. Prob'ly why I relate so well to th' sea. Constantly on the move… restless. I am wot I am."

"Doesn't love change people, though? I never thought _I'd_ be tied down, but here I—"

He laughed heartily.

"Tied down you mos' certainly are not. Look at you know; sailing th' seas wiv pirates. Temptation tuggin' you in directions you hate to follow, yet you cannot help yourself."

"I have _not_ been unfaithful," she said, a squirm of uneasiness passing through her with the resolute-sounding statement. That was not _entirely_ true. Actually, in her heart of hearts, she had told an absolute lie. She _had_ been unfaithful, _and_ she had enjoyed it.

"You can't help who you are, Lizzie," Jack said soothingly. "Don' try to make excuses for your thoughts an' actions. It's against human nature to remain wivout temptation, wivout strayin', for ten long years, at that."

"Easy for you to say," she said bitterly. _That poor woman, left all alone on an island in the middle of the ocean. She probably loved him too. Why did he not take her with him?_

"Now, now; tha's not fair. I revealed somethin' to you that you an' only you… an' I, of course… know. You can't go aroun' usin' me words against me, now."

"Of course. I'm sorry," she replied. "But why didn't you take her with you?"

He shifted uncomfortably, remembering.

"Ha, a girl—a _woman_ on a ship o' the Royal Navy," he said, squirming. He let out a fake yet realistic-sounding yawn.

"Wait—" she said, looking insanely curious, "you were in the Royal Navy?"

"More time for that story later, luv," he said quickly, realizing he had again divulged too much. "We should really get some sleep," he added. "It'll be a long day tomorrow, an' an early morn as well."

She sat there for a few more seconds, her expression indignant. He refused to budge on revealing more, even though she pouted. She left with this new piece of information about Jack, and felt better about his treatment of her, though feeling worse about his character.

Jack tossed and turned in his bed that night. _So… once I get to the Azores, I must tiptoe around Pico Island. There's no telling what's goin' to happen once we arrive. At least my appearance is completely different from th' days of yore…. She shouldn't be able to recognize me…. An' as well as that, I've switched to th' opposite side o' the law._

* * *

"Land ho!" Gibbs yelled, crisp and clear in the still-dark hour before dawn. A crescent of sunrise had appeared on the horizon, barely illuminating the mountainous expanse of land that lay before them: the Azores islands.

Jack stumbled out of bed, rubbing his eyes fervently in an attempt to see in the near-darkness. Failing miserably to move around his cabin without stubbing a toe or two, he finally lit a candle, put on his clothes and boots, and made his way to the quarterdeck.

Elizabeth heard Gibb's yells with increasing volume as he moved about the ship, alerting the crew to prepare to make port. Surprisingly, this morning, the nausea was barely noticeable. She pulled out the ginger root from under her pillow and took a bite just in case, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe it was already helping her. Somehow she'd have to inform Beckett of the early plan without anyone else seeing. This was going to be more difficult than she thought.

The tired-looking crew emerged on deck several minutes after the first calls of Gibbs had been announced. They began taking positions at their respective stations, watching a barely-awake Jack stand at the helm, eyelids heavy with sleep.

When Elizabeth arrived on deck, Beckett was already there, ready to start the day. Unlike everyone else, save for Gibbs, he looked wide awake. _Makes sense, being as he slept all afternoon yesterday_, she mused. He was wearing his frockcoat, which made sense, being as there was quite a nip in the air. Not enough to see their breaths, but enough to shiver if inappropriately dressed. _I wish he'd remove that outer layer. Jack and Barbossa will never see the lash marks on his shirt. They may very well assume I did nothing to him yesterday. I definitely did _something_ to him yesterday; that's for sure…._

* * *

Soon the ship had docked at the main port on Pico Island. Elizabeth and Beckett watched as the crew furled the sails and prepared the ship for a decent time spent at this new destination. The crew was already feeling pangs of hunger, and wanted to explore the island as soon as was possible.

Elizabeth watched Jack disappear below deck for a short time. She grabbed Beckett by the shirtsleeve and he followed her as if already aware of this development, as they went down the ladder on the larboard side of the ship so they could slip away from the crew and the captains to take care of business. For some reason, he removed his frockcoat and threw it onto main deck, heading down the ladder only wearing his slightly tattered shirt, breeches, and boots.

Beckett followed behind Elizabeth closely as she crept down the ladder on the hull, leaping over to the dock as quietly as possible. As she watched him he did the same, landing quietly on his feet. The ship loomed so high above them and so near to the dock, that if they ducked they might be able to escape the dock unseen. It was barely daybreak so the docks were still rather dark, and they stole away under the cover of darkness, their shod feet padding ever so softly on the boards of the dock.

They were able to steal away from the docks without a problem, hearing the occasional shouts from Barbossa and Jack fading from earshot, and soon entered the settlement of Lajes do Pico.

At this hour, Lajes do Pico was devoid of all activity. Not a soul walked about the abandoned cobblestone streets. All shops had their doors shut, "FECHADO" written on large obvious signs in the darkened windows. Gas lamps eerily illuminated the old brick buildings with their picturesque balconies,

"What is the language spoken here?" she asked Beckett, who was a few strides ahead of her.

"Portuguese," he said quietly. "We will have to be quiet, so as not to arouse suspicion. The townsfolk are very suspicious of foreigners."

"What townsfolk?" she said, chuckling and looking about her at the bare streets. He shot her a look of irritation, and she fell silent.

_Would he punish me if I do not stay quiet?_ she mused. Suddenly her thoughts fell. _Bloody hell; I'm not supposed to think these sorts of things…_

Once Beckett and Elizabeth reached the first row of buildings, they ducked into a vine-covered alleyway between two rather large brick shops overlooking the docks.

"So… do you remember how to get to this doctor?" she murmured, anticipating their arrival.

He mumbled off into space, his voice changing tone to one of a strange longing.

"I'll never forget… and 'this doctor' is called Dr. Serpa," he muttered, seemingly to himself. He was frozen in place, staring off into the distance.

"Alright then," she whispered, poking him in the shoulder to get him to return to reality. "Where do we go first?"

"We have to go past three rows of buildings running parallel to the docks. Once then, we follow a yellowed cobblestone street until it turns to dirt, which requires that we move easterly."

"How can you remember something so well from so long ago?" she questioned, amazed at his recollection of detail.

"Like I said, he was a good doctor. Changed my life," Beckett replied, his voice distant.

"Really."

He saw her looking at her and realized he had divulged more than he had wanted.

"Let's go," he said hastily. "They'll be wondering where you and I went off to," he added.

"Alright."

Beckett and Elizabeth moved silently through the streets, which were devoid of people so early in the morning. Only every couple of gas lamps was lit, the others casting eerie shadows in the slowly rising sun.

Once they had made it to the cobblestone street, Beckett recognized familiar landmarks. Elizabeth watched him staring up at a run-down cottage as they approached its section of the street, curls of smoke emerging from its chimney. The building was made of crudely laid brick, curtains draped in all the windows, extinguishing any possible light coming from inside. _Mercer had mentioned the windows couldn't be locked,_ he mused. _Ignorant fools._ He stared at it intently as he walked by the home, never taking his eye off it until they had passed it by. She didn't even want to ask what his problem was, because he'd never tell her.

_There's where _she_ lived. More than likely her family still lives there. Her parents… her child. They probably still wonder every day what happened to her…. _

He wasn't about to let himself become upset over this notion. This unrequited love and its tragic ending. He saw Elizabeth looking at him quizzically, but she refrained from asking him the questions he expected would come flying anytime soon. Once they had passed the cottage, Elizabeth looked forward again, staying silent….

_Thank you for minding your own business_, he mused, looking at the back of Elizabeth as she continued to walk down the street.

Beckett and Elizabeth began to jog as the realization hit that more than likely Jack and his crew would be searching for them, wondering where they disappeared.

_Right across from the doctor's is the embassy for the British Royal Navy,_ he recalled, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. _It was my crew that had established it there, being as we all needed a place to stay whilst healing, yet also needing to be close enough to the doctor. Hopefully it's still poorly marked…._

Suddenly Elizabeth recognized the sign by the doctor's home, Dr. Serpa, which also happened to be his office, for when he wasn't making house calls. She took off rather quickly in its direction, causing Beckett to also speed up, trotting along as he had not done in years.

"I see it! Finally I'll know what's wrong with me!" she said, almost with glee.

"Sounds pleasant," he replied sarcastically, attempting to keep up with her.

She skipped to the door and rapped on it rather loudly. Beckett stood next to her, immediately pulling his hair out of the ponytail. Elizabeth looked at him strangely.

"What in the world are you doing, Beckett?" she said.

"Please, call me Cutler," he replied, giving her a warm smile. It shocked her to think that she had gotten close enough to him to be able to call him by his first name. She gave him a big genuine smile, happy that they were now on first-name terms. _Strange timing, but ah well…. I guess it is appropriate, though, being as we shared that… moment, yesterday…._


	15. Remembrance

A/N: Ah! Sorry about no preview for the last chapter. This chapter is a lot of background, as the title suggests. I'm sorry if it bores you. The next chapter, however, is MUCH more exciting!

Chapter 15: Remembrance

Warnings: cursin'

* * *

Beckett had his motives for this act of good nature. No one in town need know he was around, not even the good doctor. No one in town knew his first name; they merely knew him as Commodore Beckett of the Royal Navy.

Within moments a bearded white-haired old man appeared at the door, peeping out of the opening suspiciously.

"Hello," Elizabeth greeted him warmly. "I was wondering if you could help me. I have had a pr—"

"Do you know the time?" the doctor crankily replied. "It's not yet sunrise!" His English was rather good and very understandable.

"This issue only occurs in the morning, and if I came later, I may not remember the exact symptoms," she explained, hoping this description would suffice.

He let out a little sigh, not in the mood to argue so early in the day. He was too good-natured to turn down a patient, especially such a beautiful young female who looked to be relatively healthy, if not a tad on the slender side.

"Very well. Come in."

Upon entering, the doctor led Elizabeth back into the examination room (essentially, a bathroom) where he had an array of tools.

Beckett paced nervously in the entrance room, all the negative memories of this island flooding into him.

_She had been working as a doctor's assistant in the office when I and my wounded comrades were brought in to Dr. Serpa. She was an unusual beauty; her eyes were the richest blue, like that of the clear Caribbean Sea, yet her hair was dark auburn and curly. Slightly taller than me… then again—who bloody isn't—and quite slender. When she first spoke, concerned about the condition of my sutures, I think that's when I first realized I was falling for her. Vivacious, highly knowledgeable, clever. Obviously intelligent, to be working as a doctor's assistant, and a good one, at that. Very good grasp of the English language, as well as a sharp wit… dry, like my own. Rather short temper for a woman of her appearance, though, the sort of temper that was reserved for stocky barmaid wenches having lived difficult lives. Very fluent in English, though when she'd get frustrated with the doctor she'd curse in Portuguese. Had a good deal of frown lines and smile lines both, making her appear older than she actually was. Must have had an adventurous streak, for there was some sort of tattoo on her back. Never did figure out what it was. Should've stolen a look after she died…. _

_Whilst I was recovering, I informed her of my interest on several occasions, but she simply ignored me and walked away. _

_I tried several more times during the healing process to make her fix my pillows or tuck my blanket in, just so she would touch me. Guess I wasn't hard to please back then…Then again, I suppose I haven't changed much…. Apparently a simple nuance of motion during an act of _punishment_ is enough to set me over the edge…. At that time, though, I always thrilled when she had to examine the sutures on the formerly gaping wound on my upper thigh. That was the closest I'd ever come to getting her to do what I really wanted. However, my requests to court her fell on deaf ears. Even though she was fluent in English, she'd always speak to me—or about me, more than likely— in Portuguese. I wanted to marry her, this caring, intelligent, strong-willed woman. In my rather privileged youth, I never had to hear the word 'no', and her refusal was a shock to my system, to say the least. And yet, it made me even more determined to win her over. Such a stubborn fool I was. A month went by._

_Upon recovering, I followed her back to her home. Day after day I'd wait outside and see her emerge from the home with a child. Later upon my getting the nerve to approach her outside of Dr. Serpa's office, she told me that the child was hers. However, she was not married. She was a shame to her family, she admitted, but that didn't matter to her. I then offered to marry her, to take her and her child away from this place. I think I even fell to one knee, the bloody fool I was. I promised that she would be rich and happy and secure for the rest of her life if she would leave with me. She told me that she was waiting for someone. _

_Even her family wanted her to marry me! She would bring them honour if she did so, marrying such a well-off fellow with 'such potential,' as they put it. She would no longer be a burden to her family, having to live at home with her young child._

_Again and again, as the most critically wounded of my crew continued to recover, I tried to convince her to leave, and each time she'd refuse me. _

_Before I was to finally leave the Azores with the now healed-up Royal Navy, I became desperate. Foolishly I revealed to my good chum Mercer my love for this woman, and how much I wanted her, how I wanted to 'steal her away from this rotten place', as it were. Turns out, he takes things too literally…. I do recall being almost in tears that night at the prospect of leaving her behind in the Azores… perhaps for forever. I'd grown up knowing Mercer, for Mercer was my father's good chum, even though they were a decade apart in age. When I went off to the service, apparently my father told Mercer to look out for me, and thus, an unlikely friendship began between me and this man sixteen years my senior._

_The night before the Royal Navy was to leave, Mercer kidnapped her from her home, and stowed her below-deck on the Royal Navy's ship. She must have fought him, for I noticed there were many scratches and bruises all over her skin. I didn't even learn of Mercer's actions until the following day, after we were already a distance away from the Azores, when Mercer brought me down to see her in the brig. I was immediately pissed at the fact that Mercer hadn't brought the child along as well. Mercer then insisted to me _right in front of her_ that I hadn't mentioned a child, and so he only grabbed her. So of course the rest of the trip consisted of my denial of planning to kidnap her and her child, and understandably, she refused to believe me. She sat every day in the brig, refusing to speak to anyone, refusing to eat, even. I didn't have the heart to force her to eat, so she slowly shriveled away…. _

_Eventually, I decided that it was killing me inside to force her to stay against her will, and so we headed back to the Azores. On the way back, she became increasingly weak and ill, and died. It was said that a latent infection lingering in some of the healing crewmates had killed her. Mercer blamed himself, claiming that the wounds she acquired from being kidnapped that night became infected, leading to her death, but I knew better. She had died of a broken heart._

_Even so, I held it over Mercer's head his foolish choice to kidnap (and whatever else his own guilt told him, which I did not correct) his good chum the General's potential daughter-in-law, and his good chum the General's only son's only love. He paid for it his entire life in servitude to me. However, I tend to think he ended up being rewarded in his decision to become my servant, in that he became second-in-command to my lordship over the East India Trading Company._

Beckett walked back and forth in the doctor's home, hearing a muffled yet happy exclamation coming from the examination room. He was too deep in his reverie, and so ignored it. _Her family probably assumes she gave in to my constant barrage of proposals, and stole away with me in the night. They're much better off never knowing what exactly happened. _

Elizabeth suddenly appeared in front of him, startling him out of his reverie. His eyes must have gone completely blank in the time that he was reminiscing. He snapped back to reality. _Not much time now, before I am redeemed._

"Bec—Cutler," she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He blinked woozily.

"What?" he asked, looking indignant, extremely relieved she had obeyed his wish. That was close. What if the doctor remembered him?

"I found out what's going on," she said.

He looked at her, anticipation on his face. She gave him a huge smile, unexpectedly throwing her arms around him with joy and giddiness, hugging him tightly.

"I'm pregnant!"

* * *

The pair left the doctor's office hastily, Elizabeth bidding the sweetest adieus to the good doctor. He smiled back, probably assuming that Beckett and Elizabeth were a couple. They didn't try to correct him. Beckett was glad that she had hugged him, not only because it would throw the doctor off the path of discovering his identity, but also because, well, it _was_ rather nice….

Once they were back on the street, Beckett looked across the dirt road at the embassy, a faint light emanating from inside. There were certainly men of the Royal Navy inside, men that would take Elizabeth from him, and instead of them paying him any type of reward, he would convince them to simply accept him back into their ranks in exchange for the pirate king… the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow's right-hand woman. They would see his true allegiance and his reputation would be restored. _Yes, at this moment they're probably sipping tea and prodding through their dull lives, perhaps able to seduce the female townsfolk into marriage and lives of comfort… unlike me. Well, I'll give them something to do. _

He looked at Elizabeth, who was holding her stomach, her eyes closed very peacefully, mouth drawn up into a genuine smile.

_No time to be sentimental_, he mused. _This is something I must do to redeem myself… once and for all._

With that he grabbed her arm very tightly, ignoring the yelp of discomfort she emitted from the rough handling. Fear and confusion flashed in her eyes, but he took no heed.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for this sort of background info chapter. Hopefully it filled some holes in as to the nature of Beckett's relationship with this woman.

Ah, and as I did forget to do so last chapter:

Preview for next chapter:

_If Elizabeth later on angrily demanded his reasoning for it, he could lie, explaining that he was merely preventing being recognized, and that the situation had called for desperate measures._


	16. Ginger

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! If I haven't yet replied to your review, I will do so! I just haven't had a chance to do it yet!

Chapter 16: Ginger

Warnings: I shan't spoil things….

* * *

Beckett marched Elizabeth right past the door of the embassy, back towards the docks, quickening his pace as they walked along the dirt road, clouds of dust puffing up around their feet. If he thought about his decision any longer, he might reconsider. _Why am I passing up on this chance to redeem myself? Ugh, her being pregnant makes it all the more worse_, he mused. _But is that the only reason? If it were something else ailing her, would I have turned her in? Guess I'll never know…._

"What is your problem?" Elizabeth said in an irritated tone. "You're hurting my arm."

_If she only knew what could have become of her mere seconds ago_, he mused, languidly glancing towards the cottage as they approached it from a distance away.

Suddenly Elizabeth stopped in place, causing him to stumble to an involuntary halt, for his hand was still attached to her arm.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for?" he asked her, irritated by the unannounced stop.

"I just remembered; you have to get those sutures removed," she said to him. Immediately his look of irritation faded, replaced with a look of surprise. She tried to turn around, but his hand held fast, his feet stayed planted on the ground.

"We have to go back to Dr. Serpa's office," she said, tugging him in vain. "He'd do a better job of it than anyone aboard the _Pearl_ would."

_Ha, _Beckett mused._ As if I'll be spending any more time amongst those vermin of the sea. _

She tried to tug him along again, but he wouldn't budge.

"It won't stall us for very long," she said soothingly. "Just a couple of snips with a pair of scissors. You told me that this was what you were going to—"

"I'm not going back there," he suddenly blurted rather harshly. "It's too late now."

She sighed, trying to cross her arms, though that was rendered impossible by Beckett's ironclad grip on her arm. She rolled her eyes, irritated with the stubbornness of her companion at the premise of having his itchy sutures finally removed.

Beckett rolled his eyes as well, glancing about the vicinity to see a crudely drawn wanted poster of himself with a new, higher reward. _Oh, great, now the people I'd so hoped to have forgotten me by this point have a new visual reminder of me every time they walk by._

"Twenty-five thousand pounds! Of all the impertinence!" he scoffed, reading the bold red lettering above the words _Dead or Alive_. It was then he noticed the two horns drawn on the top of his head, much resembling devil's horns. His cheeks flushed red with anger, but he remained silent. Elizabeth noticed his response, and then saw the horns for herself.

"So apparently someone doesn't like you here," she said to Beckett. "What's the story behind that, anyway? I thought you were healed up by the doctor and went on your way." Elizabeth asked. He rolled his eyes, looking away from her.

"Not quite," he managed to murmur. _Oh, if she only knew…._ He did not continue to explain.

Elizabeth looked irritated.

"Well, it's good that the doctor didn't turn you in, being as it'd be easy to recognize you, even _with_ your hair down." The redness of his face darkened at her statement. "I never realized you had a problem with this place as well as Jack. _Now_ I know why you want to be called by your first name. Not because of friendship—just the fact that you don't want to be recognized. Ha! Trust you, indeed. "

He sighed, slightly loosening the grip on her arm.

"Recognition is not a problem, really. And obviously not a major enough issue for anyone to suppose I'd never come here," he said, indicating the poster. "I did offer to bring you to this doctor, did I not? I think that simply going along with calling me by my first name is a small inconvenience, if you could even call it that, in order for you to get the best medical help available."

She seemed to calm down at the statement.

"Alright. But you should have explained why you wanted to be called by your first name, rather than letting me assume—"

He looked over at her with keen interest, watching her flash him a look of perhaps saying too much. A smirk played across his lips.

"Letting you assume what…"

"Never mind," she muttered, looking back over at the poster.

"The doctor is the only one I know in town," Beckett explained. "being as he was the one to treat my wounds years ago. More than likely, he's probably the only inhabitant of this island that could positively identify me."

"But then what is the basis for devil horns being drawn on your head? I can recall none of the wanted posters in Port Royal having anything added to them." She chuckled. "And somehow I doubt Dr. Serpa added them."

"Some bratty little neighborhood kid is probably responsible. I could not care less."

"Even if you _did _care, you're only angry for a minute or so, and then all your anger dissipates."

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, feeling all anger fade away at the thought of the higher price on his head—and how quickly he might have been shot upon entering the embassy; as boring as the lives of these Royal Navy most likely were, they'd shoot first, and ask questions later. _After all, it's dead _or_ alive. Easier to carry a body than a vigorously struggling prisoner._ All anger had left him, replaced with relief. Elizabeth certainly knew about his uncanny ability to release all pent-up anger.

"And so it does," he replied, realizing the accuracy of her observation.

They strode through the streets quickly, Elizabeth trying to pull away from Beckett's tight grip on her arm. This was completely different from traveling through the streets of Curaçao with Jack, who had kept a good distance between them. She had never thought of Beckett as the clingy type, yet here he was, practically dragging her down the road by her arm. As they continued on their way, a skinny girl with dark hair exited Beckett's cottage of interest, wearing men's clothing, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, walking towards them now. _Oh my God. Who is that?_ Beckett mused, immediately averting his eyes, keeping his head down. He couldn't divert him and Elizabeth from the path now; there was nowhere to go. And it would make him seem only more suspicious.

Turning his attentions to the woman beside him, he watched as Elizabeth patted her stomach gently, smiling down presumably at the living being within her. _I still can't believe that she remembered the wound on my back. I do believe she was actually concerned about it._ _And to think, it was _I_ that had completely forgotten about it..._

"I'm so excited to be pregnant!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "That sickness I was experiencing is called morning sickness, the doctor said. It goes away after a time. You were right about the ginger as a remedy for it, though I didn't mention you by name, don't worry…."

He felt his face going red at her admission, but didn't say anything.

And look," she added excitedly, pulling a couple of lumpy, tawny items out of her pocket, "he even gave us more ginger!"

At that, she held the roots out to him to take. Beckett accepted the ginger roots with his free hand and stared at it intensely, looking over at Elizabeth briefly to see her beaming at him. He tucked the items in a pocket as he watched her continue to smile at him.

_Us? She assumes I'm going to stay on the ship? No. I must get away somehow. I must find a way to escape the pirates, even though everyone on this island would be able to recognize me_. _A beard…. Maybe I'll grow a beard again. Yes. That is what I shall do. Get Elizabeth back to the ship, and then take off down an alley. I could take up residence—somewhere—oh, how is this going to work? Ugh, damn all wanted posters to hell…._

_But then…Elizabeth would be willing to share the ginger with me? Ha. Us, sitting aboard the _Pearl_, sipping ginger tea. Then when she'd spill it or fill it too high to be sipped safely, I'd place her over my knee and—_

The girl came closer and closer. He watched her feet as she approached. Most certainly she had heard Elizabeth's exclamation of pregnancy. His heart caught in his throat.

He felt the warmth of Elizabeth, the softness of her skin, as he gripped her arm even tighter.

_She'd probably begin spilling the tea on purpose. I would then look forward to having tea all over my lap, if only for the body draped over it afterwards…. _

_And we wouldn't stop there, no…she didn't want to stop before but she had to… no, we wouldn't stop… not until both of us were sapped of all strength. And what's even better, she's pregnant. She can't very well get pregnant again… at least not until she's had the baby. That's rather convenient, I must say._

_Oh, and of course, this bloody baby. I'm not entirely opposed to the idea of standing in as its father… temporarily?… being as its own is essentially deceased. Once every ten years. Heart locked away in some chest. Bah. _

_If I had also insisted on picking up _her_ child those years ago, _she _would never have stopped eating and thus would have lived, if only for the sake of her child—maybe even would have given in to my proposal when the time came. Of course, I'd only be willing to further consider this option if Elizabeth would be willing to—_his walking came to an abrupt halt at the realization of the heading of his train of thought_. WAIT!—God, what am I thinking? What sort of spell am I under? I didn't eat or drink anything at the doctor's house, did I? This is…utterly preposterous. _

He noticed Elizabeth looking at him with a rather confused expression on her face.

_Elizabeth. _She_ had been willing; that was for certain. Unlike bloody Luiza. _Just the thought of _her_ name resonating in his head caused flashbacks of a most disturbing nature. The last time he had said her name when she was still alive—and yet, she still wouldn't acknowledge him. Watching her lie calmly in the bed of his cabin, the only time he had ever seen her look peaceful, her clear blue eyes staring off in the distance, as if she was searching within her mind for her long-lost love. And those clear blue eyes closing then, in death.

The girl had to only be a couple of yards away now. And he had stopped moving for some stupid reason. He could feel Elizabeth's gaze burning into his face right now.

However, his mind could only think of one thing. It was something he needed to do at the moment, even if he wasn't in danger of being recognized by the girl. It would tell him for certain if his earlier thoughts were merely incoherent ramblings of a slipping mind, or if they had any physical basis. And if Elizabeth later on angrily demanded his reasoning for it, he could lie, explaining that he was merely preventing being recognized, and that the situation had called for desperate measures.

_Our ginger. _

He pulled Elizabeth to him tightly, her chest pressed up against his own. Her eyes went wide with alarm as he brought his mouth to hers in an intense, forceful kiss. She seemed to melt in his arms, not fighting the kiss, but allowing the tip of his tongue to part her lips. Pleasure overtook her every sense, and she felt completely at ease, relaxed, yet…. aroused. Her hands rose to rest lightly above his hips.

She was swooning, she knew it. So sudden and intense. Yet not entirely unexpected, really. After the… experience in the hold she had been tempted. More than likely he had been as well. And yet, it had not been the right moment.

_But this news, this wonderful news, makes everything so much more exciting_, Elizabeth mused, enjoying the sensations of this kiss._ I'm pregnant! _

A sobering fact then occurred to her.

_I'm pregnant…with Will's baby._

* * *

Ah! Elizabeth's conscience slipping in there now and again! But can Beckett make her forget?

Preview for next chapter:

_Even though his heart was hammering in his chest, the most frightened that Cutler Beckett had ever been of a female, he remained calm on the exterior._


	17. Put In His Place

Chapter 17: Put In His Place

Warnings: innuendo, cursin'…

* * *

Although Will entered Elizabeth's thoughts, the sensations that she was experiencing at the moment from this kiss pushed the thoughts right back out. She was alarmed at how easily Beckett was making her forget him, but even so, all thoughts related to Will evaporated right out of her system.

She wrapped her arms around Beckett's back, running her fingers along the sides of his spine. She could feel his heartbeat thudding against her chest… or was that her own?

The girl walked past him, heading in the opposite direction. Beckett had completely forgotten about her.

Elizabeth and Beckett continued kissing, him keeping his arms firmly around her waist.

_He may not have the expertise of Jack, but his naivety compared to Jack is actually rather endearing, _Elizabeth mused._ Apparently he hasn't taken advantage of too many women in his lifetime. I am rather surprised, I must admit. Of course Jack would be experienced, what with all his Tortuga whores…._

_Can I truly be getting this worked up in the middle of the street,_ Beckett mused, feeling overcome with lust, fighting the urge to just push Elizabeth into some dark alley and— _No. I'm not some pirate ruffian who can't control himself. I have standards. Morals. Yes, I am above doing that…. _

Using all his willpower, Beckett eventually broke the kiss after what seemed like an eternity. His face was definitely flushed, hers as well, both of their lips swollen. They simply looked at each other. He flashed her a subtle but naughty little half-smile, and she flashed him a satisfied grin in return.

The girl Beckett had forgotten, who had walked past the entwined pair as they kissed, had been living on the island since birth. She was now at the age of marrying, and was sick of all the proposals she'd get almost daily from the men of the Royal Navy, and now the East India Trading Company who had stationed themselves here. Today was the day she planned to stow away on their ship as a sort of skinny cabin boy. With her build, she could get away with it. A boyish hat was in her pocket, ready to be slipped on her head at a moment's notice.

Before she was to leave, she first wanted to say goodbye to the doctor who had employed both her and her mother for many years. So far, her life had been rather depressing, having grown up without a father, as well as living without a mother since she was ten years old. Her family had tried to convince her that her mother had eloped with a short but handsome commodore from the British Royal Navy to start anew, but she knew better. They knew better as well, but of course didn't reveal this to her. Both of her grandparents died without ever seeing their daughter again, holding on to the feeble hope that she was living a happy new life somewhere else. Dr. Serpa knew better as well, and told her he believed her mother to have been kidnapped. During her time working for him as his doctor's assistant, he'd tell her about that fateful couple of months—the months the Royal Navy had shown up on the island, wounded and pitiful and needing of help. He'd tell her that her mother had always been dedicated to her father, and no other. And most _certainly_ not to that short but rather arrogant commodore….

She had certainly learned the tricks of the trade with Dr. Serpa in the five years that she had been employed with him, and could thus serve aboard the Royal Navy ship as a sort of medic. She had taught herself English, some from her mother as well, and knew many basic medical procedures. She was even carrying some tinctures on her person as she walked to her destiny: _to become indispensable to the crew, and then to disembark elsewhere to start a new life away from all these rotten memories. _

Now that all her family members were dead and she was alone, living in her mother's house, fending off proposals by day, she had plotted her escape by night. _Mother would have never left me behind. Never. All she ever wanted was for my father to come home and to take us away from this place. And now they are both gone forever. No reason for me to remain here. I don't even have their graves to mourn over._

Unconsciously gripping Elizabeth's arm with an ironclad grip, Beckett passed the cottage, what with its curtained windows, poor construction, and painful memories of what might have been, walking rather rapidly with Elizabeth by his side.

"You're holding too tight," she murmured, trying to pull her arm away. This was not a grip of love; it was a grip intended for a prisoner. _Maybe that kiss was supposed to be some sort of goodbye. Oh, God. He's probably planning on turning me in to the authorities… or planning on killing me._ Beckett was deaf to her at the moment, entranced by this rundown cottage.

_This may very well be the last time I lay eyes upon this place_, Beckett thought, glancing into the windows of the cottage as he walked by at a slightly slower pace. Elizabeth took heed of his unnatural interest in the place and yanked away from this painful grip, successfully freeing herself from him.

"Why did you do that?" Beckett yelled at her. Her face turned beet-red. _Just seconds ago you were happy to be in my arms._

"Because, _Beckett_, I don't like the way you're yanking me along so hard, as if you have some sort of scheme! What is going on?"

_Something odd _is_ going on, and he's not even about to explain himself. He's still too untrustworthy to deserve hearing his first name uttered as if by a friend. Even though I _did_ allow him to kiss me… well, more than allow, really…._

The sound of his name uttered loudly in the small village, and directly in front of the infamous building of his past, made him cringe. He glared at Elizabeth spitefully, keeping his face hidden from the windows of the building.

Someone else heard the loud announcement of the name from a position near the door of the doctor's office. That person approached him steadily from behind, curiosity piqued at this man's identity. _Could it be?_

"Commodore Beckett," the skinny girl from the house said with a thick Portuguese accent, poking him in the center of his back, as he stood cringing from Elizabeth's yell. Upon hearing these words, Beckett jumped in fear, almost losing his balance in the process.

"_Commodore?_" Elizabeth chuckled with surprise, looking at Beckett, then at the girl. The girl looked to be slightly taller than Beckett, skinny and tomboyish, with curly auburn hair and the darkest brown eyes. Elizabeth couldn't help but feel familiarity in this girl, but knew she had never been to this island before. And had certainly never met the girl before.

Beckett remained facing the opposite direction, his face burning. He felt the tap on his back again, more insistent this time.

"Beckett, aren't you going to turn around and look at her?" Elizabeth said to him playfully. "She seems to know you."

He refused to budge. Elizabeth could see that he was being stubborn, and grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around on the uneven cobblestone street so that he was now facing this girl.

"It _is_ you!" the girl said, her dark eyes transitioning from curiosity to rage. His blue-gray eyes grew large for a split-second with recognition, him shocked into silence as she spoke in a low, dangerous growl. "You filho da puta… I should kill you. Why you take her from me?"

Even though his heart was hammering in his chest, the most frightened that Cutler Beckett had ever been of a female, he remained calm on the exterior.

"I have never seen you before in my life."

"Mentiroso vil, I will never forget your face! Where is she?"

"I don't know what you are speaking of," he said coolly. Elizabeth stared at him suspiciously. It was as if he had not a care in the world. However, before the girl could respond, he spun around, face set in a grimace as he did so, and took off sprinting in the other direction.

Elizabeth watched as the skinny girl took chase, yelling out curses, more than likely, in Portuguese. She had never seen Beckett in such a hurry, and was intrigued. Hesitantly she began running as well, following this enraged young woman in hot pursuit of 'Commodore Beckett.' _I wonder what he did. And who's this 'her' the girl is referring to? What an odd triangle…_

Beckett felt a stitch in his side already, as he slipped into an alleyway between houses on his way back to the _Pearl_. He'd hide in the water if he had to. It figured; if he had gone into the embassy with Elizabeth, the girl would never have found him. He might be at this very moment preparing to set sail on a ship of the Line back to Jamaica, where he could ascend the ranks once again. Clear his good name. And work his way up to the top so he could rid the world of pirates once and for all. Or be lying dead in the doorway of the embassy, having been shot where he stood. Either option was better than this current situation.

A situation in which he was racing down streets at speeds he hadn't attempted since he was in his early twenties. And well, it had certainly been many years since then. The girl would surely catch up to him. Now that he had fled from her, it was even more apparent that he was guilty. _Maybe her mother's body washed up on shore_, he mused. They had only been a half-day's journey from Pico Island when they had buried her at sea. _The girl probably already knows her mother's fate and has been waiting all these years for me to return to exact her revenge. _His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

Joana had certainly grown a great deal since he had last seen here when she was about ten years old. She now appeared to be about twenty years old, even though she was probably closer to twenty-five by this point, and all that baby fat she had had as a child had seemingly spread to fill her hollowed out, stretched out frame. Even though she looked practically starved, so much of her mother was in her. The way she had cursed in Portuguese, even though her English was rather good. The curliness of her hair, even though it was slightly darker than her mother's hair. If he wasn't so intent on surviving this encounter, he would have preferred to reminisce, to compare mother and daughter, perhaps over tea. Instead he was running from her in a rather cowardly manner.

_I run because I do not wish to have to kill the girl. Oh, who am I kidding… she would stop at no less than to throttle me with her bare hands, of that I'm certain. And her hatred for me is enough that she could do it, no matter the strength of my struggle. In my unarmed state I'd be helpless to fight back. Why oh why didn't I grab a pistol before leaving the ship… _

* * *

Jack had been searching the ship fervently for sign of Elizabeth or Beckett. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air. _Please have them still be on the _Pearl_. I do not want to have to set foot on this bloody island_, he mused. All he found was Beckett's frockcoat lying on the main deck near some rigging strung down over the hull. Even so, he checked below deck again.

After almost twenty minutes of searching throughout the ship, he had to accept that Beckett and Elizabeth had disembarked. He was filled with rage—and a bit of jealousy. _How could Beckett have convinced her to leave wiv him? An' to think, I was goin' to make a nice sum of money from 'im. Bloody coward…._

He rounded up Murtogg and Mullroy with the premise that he'd need bodyguards in town, just in case someone so happened to recognize him. This was partially true, but more importantly, they were to take Beckett to wherever the Royal Navy was stationed on this island. Of course, they weren't aware of the impending blackmail as of yet. As well as carrying a fresh pistol, a cutlass, and his dagger, Jack had furtively slipped some shackles onto his belt for the purpose of capturing Beckett—wherever he was.

Jack walked into the main square of town beside the docks, noticing a poster of Beckett, namely, with a higher reward of 25,000 pounds. _Just wot I thought_, he mused, smiling at the poster. _His fate has certainly been sealed now._

Almost as soon as he had stepped away from the poster, Jack watched in awe as Beckett dashed towards the_ Pearl_ at full speed, pursued closely by a skinny albeit pretty girl dressed in drag, looking enraged and cursing at him in Portuguese.

_He's on the island for twenty bloody minutes, an' he's already pissed someone off. Well, that's jus' like 'im_, Jack mused, realizing that Beckett had no idea what was in store for him.

Beckett's face was beet-red and eyes wide as he ran full speed for the docks. _How odd of Beckett to run from a mere girl, of all people_, Jack thought, as he smiled at the out-of-breath man._ Mus' be more of a coward than I firs' thought. _

As Beckett tried to run past Jack to the ship, the pirate captain stuck out his leg at the last minute and tripped him, causing him to fall face-first onto the cobblestone square of the harbor.

Beckett automatically held out his arms to soften his fall, but he had still scraped up his chin quite a bit upon hitting the rough brick. From his position on the ground, aching all over, he seethed up at Jack, who was standing above him, a rogue grin on his face.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for, you imbecile?" Beckett yelled at Jack, still reeling from the unexpected fall. In response, Jack yanked the shackles from his belt and pounced on Beckett's back as Joana froze in place in front of them, confused at this turn of events. Was this mustached man _helping_ her? She hadn't heard the exchange between them, too busy thinking of the worst insults she could possibly utter to describe the man who was responsible for the disappearance of her mother.

"For monetary gain," Jack replied in a grunt, as a late response to Beckett's question. "C'mon, no use fightin' th' inevitable."

Jack tried to force Beckett's arms behind his back, but Beckett was surprisingly strong. He kicked his legs about, striking Jack with them several times as he dug his arms underneath him, keeping them from being accessed.

"What are you talking about?" Beckett shot, his voice muffled as his face was shoved against the cobblestone.

"Reward, my friend. A rather substantial one at that. Did you not see your new poster?"

Beckett scoffed. _Twenty-five thousand pounds, devil horns… and a lot of awkward questions. _

Murtogg and Mullroy exchanged worried glances, backing away from Beckett and Jack, retreating step by step towards the ship.

"Looks like Jack can take care of hisself plenty good," Murtogg mumbled to Mullroy, who could only nod, eyes wide as saucers. They watched Jack's advantageous position over Beckett, their former leader.

"Well, Lord Beckett had a good run, while it lasted," Mullroy murmured. Murtogg nodded, as they both backed up across the docks.

"I don' want to have to kill you, mate, but it seems you've left me wiv no other choice," Jack said, as he sat on Beckett's back, pulling his pistol from his sidearm. Jack cocked the pistol, placing the barrel against the back of Beckett's head.

"But why?" Beckett shouted back, distressed at this shocking turn of events. Never had he expected Jack to do this….

_He runs off wiv Lizzie, takin' her an' 25,000 pounds wiv it… an' now he doesn't understand why I'd want to do harm to him, _Jack mused_. Poor fool…._

* * *

Preview for next chapter:

"_I heard rumours that you had been killed by the Kraken, and escaped from Davy Jones' Locker," the EITC officer said coldly and almost in a whisper, noticing that Jack was unarmed at the moment. _


	18. Emotions

A/N: Thanks for the feedback, everyone! I hope you like this action-packed chapter! There's only one normal-length chapter left to go after this one! But then again, if interest holds up, a threequel may currently be in the works!

Chapter 18: Emotions

Warnings: tusslin', perhaps some cursin'

* * *

"D'ya feel that, Beckett?" Jack said, pushing the barrel into Beckett's unkempt mop of wavy hair until the metal rested against his head. "I think you'd better learn to listen fast, if you'd like to keep your bloody brains intact."

_Oddly enough, I think I believe him when he says he'll kill me. He's got to be absolutely enraged by this point, what with my stealing Elizabeth away. Bloody slow doctors. Always the case…_ All of a sudden the tension went out of Beckett's body, and he let his arms rest at his sides, rather than underneath his body. Smiling triumphantly, Jack tucked his pistol into the crook of his arm, to prepare to restrain his captive with the shackles. As Jack snapped a shackle on one of Beckett's wrists, the pistol tucked under his armpit misfired, the loud crack of the gunshot echoing throughout town.

Elizabeth suddenly came running out of the narrow alleyway that Beckett and the girl had raced out of. She had temporarily lost the racing pair, and had only gotten back on track after hearing the shot.

Jack was not prepared for the misfiring of his pistol, and tumbled backwards off of Beckett, landing roughly on his back on the ground. Immediately Beckett took advantage of this good fortune and stood up, way too close to the girl who wanted to kill him. The look on her face was that of pure hatred. Beckett saw the pistol lying by Jack's leg, and noticed that Jack was not yet in the process of retrieving it. Meanwhile, Joana raised a skinny fist to sucker-punch Beckett. Most certainly with the rage she felt now, she could knock him out cold. Elizabeth noticed this movement, and reached over to tap Beckett to warn him—

Suddenly the yells of a couple dozen men came from up the street. Men of the Royal Navy and East India Trading Company both. They approached the brawl with weapons drawn, urging everyone to stay where they were.

Beckett, Elizabeth, and Joana froze in place. Jack, on the other hand, pulled himself off of the ground, although leaving his gun on the street. He stood woozily, facing the approaching men he never thought he'd see here.

The men slowed down and one stepped forward, a member of the East India Trading Company that Jack recognized as a fellow low-level officer of the Royal Navy when he had been employed there.

"I heard rumours that you had been killed by the Kraken, and escaped from Davy Jones' Locker," the EITC officer said coldly and almost in a whisper, noticing that Jack was unarmed at the moment. The officer continued to approach the pirate captain, who stood warily in place, unsure of how to handle the situation at present.

Suddenly Jack saluted the man very crisply, his action full of mockery even so.

"Ah, former Royal Navy Lieutenant Benjamin Barker. An' true rumours they are at that, mate. Am I not standing before you now?"

"I had figured you'd return to this spit of land in the middle of nowhere at some point," Barker replied. "Whether you had visited the Locker previously or not."

"An' why th' bloody hell would you think to ever find me here?" he said to the familiar man.

"What do you mean?" Barker was now only about three feet away from Jack and had no weapon in his hand either.

"You know my situation…." Jack murmured quietly, eyes darting nervously about the town. He had avoided this very place for almost two decades because of the sort of welcome and goodbye he'd get when making berth.

_After I'd disembark on Pico Island, she'd find me an' approach me, give me a nice hard slap across th' face that dwarfed even that o' Elizabeth's slap, which is sayin' somethin', an' would proceed to curse me out. _

_Thank goodness I never learned Portuguese, even though I pretended to. I'll never know wot exactly she was sayin' to me durin' those times, _Jack mused, in the midst of reminiscing

_The middle parts of me visits were always good though. She'd forgive me temporarily for my havin' left her behind th' time before, an' we'd end up takin' part in th' sports of lovers. In addition to those sorts o' encounters, we'd sit an' talk an' she'd mend th' wounds I'd acquired since last seein' her. I'd teach her me broken form of English an' she'd _try_ to teach me Portuguese. Ah, fallin' asleep in each others' arms over th' high cliffs overlooking th' ocean. Skinny dippin' in pools fed by th' prettiest of waterfalls, hidden deep wivin th' forest. Sometimes she'd even get me to make empty promises in th' heat of the moment, th' she-devil she was. I got her name tattooed on me arm. She got a tattoo of a sparrow in turn, on her back. Holdin' hands an' pickin' flowers for her, placing 'em in her hair, th' ratty bird's nest it was… though I _did_ like tryin' to run me fingers through it on occasion. I'd tell her of my travels wiv th' Royal Navy, an' then she'd cross the line an' overdo it— she'd beg to come wiv me. _

_It was always then, upon her mentionin' th' future, that I'd snap back to reality. Always refused her, I did. Always had quite valid excuses to do so, really. Her parents hated me. An' this was all during me law-abidin' days…. Wonder wot they'd say now…_

_However, during th' goodbye, after informin' her that I was leavin'…. Leavin' wivout her again—she'd literally attack me an' we'd have quite a tumble aroun' th' house—or shoreline—wherever we was at th' time. Sometimes I'd even get a couple more slaps about th' face. Didn' like that part too much. Even so, in the midst o' me fresh pain, I'd always give her a last fleetin' kiss, an' disappear before she could slap me again. This same story, wiv several variations, o' course, occurred perhaps a dozen times before I finally stopped comin' back altogether. When I'd get back on me ship wiv th' Royal Navy, they'd see my bruises an' scratches an' know that I had been wiv her again. Needless to say, none ever acted jealous o' me. But I didn' care about that at th' time. Should've known then…._

_The final time I went to the Azores, I spotted her as I was walkin' along wiv my fellow shipmates. Then I saw it—th' bloody wench was holdin' hands wiv another man as they strolled about th' streets! Though I now realize I wasn't entitled to tell her wot to do, somethin' in me snapped that day, an' so I began walkin' the opposite way wiv me chums, not even botherin' to greet her that one last time. I picked up th' pace on my way back to the docks, ignorin' her, even though I could hear her yellin' my name. Now that I think about it, she was probably doin' that to stir some jealousy in me—to maybe get me to commit or somethin' or other. Well, she had certainly achieved her firs' goal, doin' wot she did. But that had marked th' end of that relationship—for good._

_Until that day, when the Royal Navy was sailin' near th' Azores, the crew would ask me if I wanted to stop, an' I'd say yes after mulling o'er it for a time. Her slaps _did_ smart quite a bit. However, upon her betrayal, they refrained from mentionin' it altogether. I did not return there again, an' swore to them I never would. They knew I'd keep my word, an' I did, all those years… until now, that is. Bloody Ben Barker never did trust me word... _

"What situation? You mean Luiza?" Barker asked. Jack's eyes narrowed at the name of the woman he had left behind so many years ago. He didn't have a chance to respond.

"She's been dead now for fifteen years, Jack."

Suddenly all feeling left him. He felt numb, legs weak enough to collapse under him. Joana's head perked up at the mention of the woman's name. Her mother's name. And Jack. Midshipman Jack Sparrow, her fath—

"Wot? But…how?" he managed to stammer, feeling nauseous, his head swimming. _Luiza's dead…Luiza's dead… How could I have possibly outlived her, wot wiv her all secluded here on this bloody spit of land in th' middle of nowhere!_

Beckett nearly fainted, his heart pounding with exertion in his chest. Pounding with rage. His Luiza—well, the one he had _wanted_ to be his—had died fifteen years ago. _Luiza…. Luiza had been waiting for…. Jack?_

"I'm sorry. I hadn't realized you didn't know," Barker said, sounding sympathetic for the first time.

An officer from the Royal Navy strode up beside Barker, staring intensely at Jack, then at Beckett.

"Why don' you jus' ask your friend about it?" he told Jack, beckoning to Beckett. "After all, he was there when she died."

Jack's face went red with rage, his hands balled into tight fists. He turned to face Beckett. Speech couldn't even come to him at his point.

The Royal Navy officer continued to speak.

"He had her kidnapped from the island for his own purposes. What was it, Beckett; to marry her, you said?"

Beckett's eyes flashed with rage. He glared at the man with pure hatred, his vision shaking from all the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.

"I did _not_ kidnap her," he said through clenched teeth. _How dare he utter such a malicious lie! _Beckett's brain yelled.

Both Jack and Joana were seething with fury, both clenching their fists in preparation to knock Beckett's lights out.

Suddenly Beckett was slugged in the jaw by Jack, and, caught off guard, stumbled sideways, nearly losing his balance. However, instead of shying away from Jack after the punch, he lunged at him, knocking him to the cobblestone below.

The pirate and the former lord went down in a heap of clothing and hair as they punched and hit out at each other, tussling around on the ground, both filled with an anger that neither had felt in years.

"_You_ killed her!" Beckett screamed at Jack, grabbing him by the dreadlocks, swinging his shackled wrist around to slice the pirate captain across the face.

"It soun's to me like that was _your _doing!" Jack screamed back, Beckett's shackle connecting with his braided chin.

"She died of a broken heart—that _you_ caused her!"

"Wot were you doin' tryin' to steal her heart, anyway, bloody thief!"

"I loved her!" Beckett blurted, feeling the scratch of Jack's rings across his face. He yelped in response to the pain caused by the sharp gemstones.

"Well, I loved her first!" Jack heard himself bellowing back, louder than anything that he had yet said. He felt Beckett's shackle make contact with his nose, and knew a nosebleed would probably be evident soon.

"Then why the _bloody hell_ did you leave her?"

Jack was almost out of control with rage, hearing Beckett's accusatory tone. _How dare he throw this up in my face! As if he has any sort of right!_

"I had my reasons, an' you've no business knowin' 'em!" Jack shouted back.

During Jack and Beckett's fight on the street, Elizabeth stood by, covering her mouth with a hand. _Beckett and Jack had… the same problem with the Azores. A woman_. Joana did essentially the same thing as Elizabeth, yet strongly desiring to simultaneously punch and hug her long-lost father. And wanting to just punch Beckett.

Murtogg and Mullroy had backed their way up the gangplank of the _Pearl_, so that they watched the battle from the bow of the ship, hiding behind the bowsprit. Barbossa was on the quarterdeck, beckoning crew over and telling them they needed to set sail—immediately. Silently the men began untying the mooring lines, allowing them to simply fall in the harbor. The black mainsail was unfurled very slowly so as not to arouse the attention of the bystanders of the Royal Navy and East India Company alike.

Meanwhile, Gibbs ordered Murtogg and Mullroy to lug one of the Pearl's smaller cannons to the bow. He positioned it quietly behind the wooden wall, being as there were no gun ports at the front of the ship, loading the cannonball as he aimed the cannon at the group of men below. He lit the fuse, and covered his ears, feeling the wind billowing on the mainsail, hopefully pulling the ship out of the harbour soon….

Suddenly several of the Royal Navy and East Indiamen standing below were blasted apart by cannonfire, the others scattering in varying directions. The two officers who had approached Jack and Beckett looked up at the _Black Pearl_, the source of the attack.

From his position on the ground, Jack spotted his pistol and grabbed it, pulling forcefully away from Beckett with pistol in hand. He sprinted for the docks, pistol aimed back at the two officers, Beckett still half-lying, half-sitting on the ground.

_Oh God. They're going to leave me here to be hanged,_ Beckett mused, clambering to his feet, watching Barker fall to his knees after the firing of Jack's weapon_. I'd rather have a face-off with one man than… what, sixteen or so? And now that I refrained from turning in Elizabeth, I'm no more lawful than Jack is…. God, I hate this bloody pirate life…._

Thankfully, more cannonade blasted from the _Pearl_, and he took this opportunity to head towards the ship. He saw Elizabeth sprinting off well in front of him, grabbing onto the rigging on the side and gripping the hull. Gibbs had Murtogg and Mullroy lug yet another cannon to the bow, so there was now double the firepower raining down on the unfortunate East Indiamen and Royal Navy officers.

As Beckett moved towards the _Pearl_, Joana ran by him, kicking him hard in the calf as she passed him. He picked up speed as more cannonballs flew at the officers from the _Pearl_, Jack now firing back on several of them, oddly enough not at him, and he leapt onto the hull of the _Pearl_, clutching the rigging of the ship near where Jack was gripping it, pistol in his free hand.

Upon Beckett's sigh of relief, Jack raised his pistol to Beckett's face.

"No. You're stayin' here," he said, dead serious, his pistol aimed between Beckett's eyes. And with that he kicked Beckett in the stomach, knocking him loose of the rigging.

Sopping wet, Beckett scrambled back onto the dock, noticing Joana standing there forlornly and staring at Jack, who was completely ignoring her. He grabbed Joana's arm and snapped the open shackle on her wrist, shackling her to him.

"Jack," he said loudly to the captain, who was more than an arm's length away from him now, perhaps two arm's lengths by this point. The ship was slowly pulling out of the harbour.

"This is Joana, your daughter," Beckett shouted matter-of-factly. EITC men and Royal Navy men alike looked on with interest as they avoided cannonfire, trying to approach the _Pearl_. With his free arm, he pointed at the skinny curly-haired girl shackled to him. He held up his arm, showing Jack that they were now attached. Joana flashed Beckett a look of spite, but he ignored her for the time being.

"Are you going to abandon her like you did her mother?" he said, subsequently feeling a sharp pain in his arm as Joana punched him with her free arm. "By leaving me behind you are sentencing her to death."

Jack's jaw dropped, and he temporarily lost his grip on the rigging. One hand was gripping the rigging, the other hand holding his pistol.

"Wot?" he stammered. "You've got to be kiddin'. A valiant effort, I must say, _Cutler_—"

"No," the girl said in a commanding voice, stepping forward, dragging Beckett forward as well. "You are my father. Luiza was my mother. She told me all about you."

Jack's eyes were narrowed, his expression suspicious yet confused. A shot was fired from the direction of the scattering Royal Navy, shrapnel striking Jack on a metal buckle so as to cause his belt to slip off: the dagger and cutlass sinking into the harbour, him unable to grab it in time.

"Bugger bugger bugger" Jack muttered, as he watched his possessions slip below the surface of the water.

"I want to go with you," Joana stated clearly.

Jack's head shot up at the request.

"An' jus' _how_ would I be sentencin' you to death if I let you stay? You've been here all along. You're safe here."

"Right. Just like my _mother_ was," she shot back sarcastically, glaring at Beckett very briefly. Jack's suspicious look disappeared, replaced with a look of shame.

Beckett also replied to Jack's question, even though it hadn't been directed at him.

"You are sentencing her to death if you leave her behind. Since I'm very soon to be shot in the back, I'll fall into the water of the harbour. And being as she is shackled to me, she very well may drown, having dead weight on her wrist. Or else now that all have been made aware of your close relation, they may hold her hostage or even torture her to get to you."

"No thanks to you, ye yappy coward of a runt!"

Joana wasn't about to tell him how good a swimmer she was, but the fact that she might be able to leave this island with the only living family she had left was good enough to keep civility towards Beckett—at least, temporarily. Apparently her father didn't like Beckett much either, which was comforting.

Jack glanced at this girl who claimed to be his daughter. He looked into her eyes, which plead with him, dark, brown, and shaped just like his own. _She has my eyes._ He looked over at Beckett, the man who had been there when Luiza had died.

One of his arms was holding on to the rigging, and one to his beloved pistol. He no longer had a place to tuck the pistol, being as his belt had been shot off only moments before. His hatred for Beckett was much stronger at the moment than his love for the girl. He had vowed never again to allow Beckett aboard the ship. Beckett would look much better as a sack of reward money. But it was far too late to negotiate….

* * *

Only two chapters left to go, with one of the two being a sort of short epilogue, I'd like to call it! Feel free to comment or suggest anything about the future of where this storyline may go! Thanks, everyone!


	19. Lost In Translation

Chapter 19: Lost In Translation

Warnings: none

* * *

Suddenly Jack loosed his grip on the pistol, allowing it to fall into the water below. With a sharp intake of breath at the loss, he reached out a hand. Beckett moved for it first, but Joana shoved him over and took Jack's hand first. Jack pulled his daughter onto the rigging of the bow. Beckett followed, though was not helped as Joana had been. He swallowed some seawater in the process of grasping the ship, but he was soon attached to the rigging, as the other cannons aboard the Pearl fired upon the three ships in the harbour, more than likely one or two of them being Royal Navy or East India Trading Company. It was rather easy to aim for specific regions on the ships, being as they were sitting motionless, and the _Pearl_ was barely moving. The other ships were suffering massive damage and wouldn't be able to take pursuit without major repair work.

Beckett watched from his low vantage point on the _Black Pearl_ as the mainmast of the largest of the three ships in the harbour collapsed. Each of the masts of other ships continued falling until not a single mast stood.

Jack, Elizabeth, Joana, and Beckett crawled up the side of the _Pearl_ until they flopped themselves onto the deck, all panting heavily.

Beckett tried to stand up, and realized that he couldn't because Joana was still lying on deck, shackled to him by the wrist. Instead he sat Indian-style, his hands at his sides anchored to the deck.

"Where are the keys?" Joana said aloud, getting the attention of Jack, who was starting to pull himself off the ground, staring at the skinny girl in drag very suspiciously.

"Jack," Beckett said, more forcefully this time. The dreadlocked captain looked at Beckett, then at Joana. Immediately he smiled, glancing back at Beckett.

"Ah, wonderful idea. I unshackle you an' her an' then toss you overboard! Couldn't've planned it better meself!"

"Right. So, where is the key?" Beckett asked, unimpressed, rolling his eyes as he spoke.

Jack patted the area where his belt had been. To which the said key had been attached.

"Gone. However, I know jus' the thing to break it apart. Is there a smith nearby?" he said to no one in particular. "All I need is an ass an' some gears…" He looked at Beckett, a smile on his face. "Actually, bein' as you're here, all I'd need now are some gears."

Beckett proceeded to roll his eyes.

Barbossa moseyed on over to the four exhausted individuals in varying degrees of lying and seated positions on the main deck. He tapped Joana's hand with a boot.

"What be this?" he asked Jack.

Jack looked bewildered, and looked at the girl who had his eyes… and Luiza's hair. _Not sure where the skinniness comes from, though. Oh, Lord, I've forgotten her name already_. He gave her a pleading look, which she responded to by averting her eyes, and sighing quietly.

"I'm his daughter," she said, pointing at Jack.

"An' yer name, Missy?" Barbossa replied, not sounding particularly impressed. Certainly he had his own bounty of illegitimate sons and daughters scattered around the seven seas.

"Joana. Who are you?"

"I be Cap'n Barbossa, Pirate Lord o' the Caspian Sea, legendary cap'n o' the cursed—"

"That's quite enough," Jack murmured just loud enough to be heard.

The shorter captain stood up a bit woozily.

"You were about to leave me stranded, weren't you?" he said accusingly at the taller captain.

"'Course not, Jack," Barbossa said with an uneasy smile. "Jus' gettin' the ship ready fer yer departure. Had I not, ye'd be danglin' from a lamppost in the harbour."

Elizabeth stood up and watched the exchange. She glanced over at Beckett and Joana on the deck, Beckett's shirt soaked so as to become transparent. Joana was busy watching Jack and Barbossa.

"How about we stand up at the same time?" Beckett asked Joana, who rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"What? Would you rather lie here all day on deck?" he scoffed. "Fine. Have it your way." He crossed his arms, and in doing so, yanked her wrist upwards rather painfully.

She flashed him a glare of spite.

"Fine then… Covarde louco," she said, positioning herself to get up.

Beckett sighed deeply.

"Entendo o que você está dizendo#1," he replied matter-of-factly, causing Joana's eyes to widen.

Elizabeth gaped over at him, as did Jack.

"I didn't know you spoke Portuguese," Elizabeth said, utterly impressed yet shocked.

Beckett looked at Joana. "Aprendi portugues para o Luiza#2," he added. She looked taken aback. He then glanced over at Elizabeth, his demeanor more arrogant than usual.

"Yes, I just so happen to be fluent," he said, which was only a slight stretch of the truth. "Although it's been quite awhile since I've had to speak it."

"Você pode ser capaz de enganá-lo," he said to Joana, pointing at Jack, "mas você não pode me enganar.#3."

A ghost of a smile passed over Joana's face, but faded as quickly as it had appeared. Jack looked angry but was utterly lost.

"I'd appreciate it, Beckett, if you'd talk in the language of the bloody ship," he snapped irritably.

"Wow. And to think, until this day, I did not realize that ships could talk." He flashed a mischievous grin at Jack.

"Ha ha," Jack said in a deadpan tone, leaning in closer to the sitting man. "I'll throw you both, _hija o no_, off th' bloody ship if you're going to carry on like this. An' that's a promise I intend to keep."

Beckett couldn't help but smile at Jack's limited grasp of Spanish. _Is he not even aware of the language of the Azores?_ _Some father he's going to make for Joana…._

* * *

Soon Beckett and Joana had been separated by the firing of a pistol by Gibbs between the links of the metal connecting the shackles. Jack offered to do so himself, but Beckett did not trust his state of mind at this point. _He would've thrown me off the ship or strangled me by now, if not for my connection—literally—to his daughter. A pistol would make it all the easier to rid the ship of me for good._

Once the pistol had been fired and the metallic clang had followed, Jack raced over to the newly separated pair, an evil grin on his face. This was not lost on Beckett.

Jack reached for his cutlass—then pistol—then dagger—all gone. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at Beckett, who was now smiling triumphantly, moving slowly away from the gunwale back towards the center of the ship.

"It won't take the presence of weapons to get you off the _Pearl_, mate," Jack said, approaching Beckett, who stood straight-backed against the mainmast.

"You know, you're not the only one who was hurt here," Beckett replied. "Had you not stolen her heart, it would have been mine to keep—and take good care of. You're a selfish coward. You _robbed_ me of a happiness that—"

With that, Jack slapped Beckett across the face.

Beckett simply stood there afterwards, a red handprint appearing on his cheek, his mouth agape in shock. Jack stayed silent, watching Beckett warily.

"You had it all and you threw it all away," Beckett muttered in a disappointed tone, his face set like stone, moving his hand up to touch his face.

Suddenly Jack lunged at Beckett, knocking him powerfully against the mast, then onto his back on the deck. Beckett groaned as his back hit the boards, trying ever so hard to get the pirate captain off of him.

"I think it's high time you shut your mouth about wot happened," Jack hissed at Beckett, pinning the smaller man down and digging his bejeweled knuckles into Beckett's jaw. "'Cos you are th' one ultimately responsible for her death." He glanced quickly over at Joana. "An' the one who caused _her _to grow up wivout a mother," he added, pointing at the girl, who was watching them intently.

"It was Mercer," Beckett yelped, tasting blood in his mouth.

"Right. Pass th' blame off to someone else."

Beckett covered his face with his arms, speaking in a muffled voice.

"It's true. I confided in him—confessed to him my feelings for her—and _he_ decided to kidnap her… but then did not tell me what he did after we had gotten too far away."

Elizabeth suddenly realized what Beckett's major confession to Mercer had been. So this was the influence Mercer had over him from his potent confession. Mercer had single-handedly changed both Beckett's and Luiza's lives upon hearing Beckett's admission. The old clerk probably had taken Beckett's emotional confession of love rather seriously, being as Beckett rarely showed emotion normally.

"Why did you keep him around then, after he had done such a horrible thing?" Elizabeth heard herself asking.

"May I explain myself," Beckett said with a sigh, not fighting back against Jack, merely protecting his face. Jack stopped punching him for a few moments to hear the rest of his explanation.

Beckett continued.

"Not only had Mercer kidnapped her from the island, but then he left her daughter behind to fend without a mother." He cringed before his next statement. "After she died, he vowed he'd make it up to me. He blamed himself for her death, thought that she had died from infection setting into the wounds she had gotten from the kidnapping. From then on, although he was older than me and of higher rank, he became my personal clerk, a mercenary at my beck-and-call, more than willing to obey my every command—for it meant his atonement."

"And where is this Mercer now?" Joana asked, her command of the English language very good. She looked like she was ready to kill him, if he happened to be aboard.

"Dead," Beckett said to her as he lie on his back, temporarily uncovering his face, realizing that these were most likely the first words with her not exchanged in utter hatred.

"I suppose it's also Mercer's fault that you choked up in th' battle against the _Pearl_ an' th' _Dutchman_," Jack retorted, eyes narrowed.

"He wasn't even on the _Endeavour_ at the time," Beckett replied. "That was my fault and my fault alone. I am to blame for the outcome of my responsibilities." He bit his tongue hard. _Unlike you, leaving her for dead and putting all the blame on me…._

"It seems like you have more to say. Go ahead; spit it out," Jack sneered, noticing the way that Beckett had to stop speaking.

_The man who is directly responsible for my mother's death is dead._ Joana walked over to Jack and touched his back very lightly. He turned his head very quickly, looking at who had dared do such a thing in the midst of his anger. Upon seeing that it was his daughter, the anger dissipated from his eyes.

"Yes?" he said to the girl, not knowing how to speak to her.

"My mother is dead," she said. "Nothing you or he says can change that. It's over."

A look of shame appeared on Jack's face. He did not speak, only looking at her with shame and pity.

"I don't want your pity," she said to him. "Rather, I pity you for keeping my mother out of your life."

Her exotic accent aboard the _Black Pearl_, what with its various mangled forms of British English about, was refreshing to all, to say the least.

Jack rose up off of Beckett, who had fallen silent below him when Joana spoke.

"It was a mistake, I admit it," Jack told Joana, swaggering drunkenly towards his daughter. "But now _you're_ here!" He ended his sentence with a toothy, sheepish grin.

"You don't want me here," she replied, crossing her arms.

"'Course I do, luv. I jus' didn' want to force you to come aboard if that was not your desire."

"I want to get away from the Azores since the death of my mother," Joana replied in her exotic accent. "Your return there proves to me that this is my destiny."

He gave her an odd little crooked smile.

"If that's wot you say," he murmured slowly and carefully.

* * *

Beckett had bent his knees up so that he was on his back with feet sitting flat on the deck. Elizabeth went over to him and offered him a hand. He looked up at her, at her concerned face watching the swelling and redness that was spreading over his cheek from the earlier slap, as well as an oncoming bruise from a punch to his jaw.

During this time, Jack glanced over at Joana.

"Wanna meet me crew?" he asked her earnestly.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"Sure."

At that, Jack and Joana strode over to several crewmembers that were standing about on deck.

Once Jack was no longer within earshot, Beckett took Elizabeth's hand and stood up a bit shakily. He watched her expression, surprised that she hadn't pulled her hand back and let him fall. _I doubt she's going to ever acknowledge that what happened ashore actually occurred. _

"I have something I need to ask you," Elizabeth said to Beckett, whose eyes immediately went downcast, his hands falling to his sides.

"Alright," he said, a hint of shame tingeing his voice. Silence followed. He looked back up at her for a brief moment.

"Not here," she said, grabbing his forearm rather roughly. "Below deck."

As Jack introduced his daughter to the crewmates of the _Black Pearl_ and Barbossa moved again to take the helm, Beckett and Elizabeth descended below deck.

_It feels as if I'm marching to the gallows_, Beckett mused, allowing himself to be pulled across the gun deck, reaching the ladder to the brig with Elizabeth leading. _What in the world is she going to do?_

Once they were in the brig, Elizabeth crossed her arms and turned sharply to face him. Beckett took in a breath and held it there, prepared for just about anything.

"What was that about earlier?" she said. "And don't pretend to be ignorant of what I'm referring to."

He cleared his throat.

"Well, a lot happened to occur earlier. Accusations, pursuit—"

"Yes, but one thing in particular dealt with me directly. Why did you do that?"

He looked up in the air as if searching his brain for the information. He knew perfectly well what she was referring to, but he didn't feel like explaining. What was the excuse he was going to use?

Beckett did not respond for a time, and so Elizabeth began speaking again.

"Did you do it to avoid being recognized by that girl?" she asked, voice getting louder.

For some reason, his eyeballs felt too heavy to lift off the floor. He swallowed, remembering his jumping to conclusions culminating in that kiss. If he said yes to this, though it would be a lie, though it _would_ get Elizabeth off his back for the time being, it would dash the hope of any of those earlier conclusions becoming reality. And, well, he didn't actually _mind_ the possibility of those earlier conclusions becoming a reality.

It was the moment of truth. Feeling gooseflesh running down his spine, he shook his head. His eyes stayed glued to the floor. Elizabeth was taken aback. _Why doesn't he just admit to the purpose of what he did? He couldn't have meant anything else by it… There's no way…._

Irritated by his silence on the matter, Elizabeth spoke again.

"I'm not going to kill you or anything if you admit to doing it for that reason. I just want to know why." His eyes rose very briefly, locking with hers for a moment then falling to the ground again. His appearance was contrite… humbled, even.

"It wasn't because of that," he mumbled.

"Then why? You only offered to be on a first-name basis with me to avoid recognition. Why should I believe that _that_ was any different?"

He stayed silent, the sound of his swallowing the only noise to break the peace.

"Beckett," she said rather insistently. His eyes rose at the sound of his name, and he watched Elizabeth intensely, clearing his throat and looking slightly irritated.

"Elizabeth," he stammered, voice coming out surprisingly husky and intimate. She watched him, curiosity obvious. _Is that a bit of a smile, there on her face?_ _Oh, dear. She may not exactly be opposed to the idea of _—He cleared his throat again, the trace of a smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. As Elizabeth's intrigue grew more apparent with the widening of her eyes, he clasped his hands behind his back, looking rather charming at the moment. Elizabeth gulped, staring at him intently.

"Please… It's Cutler, dear."

* * *

A/N: Okay, so all that is left now is a short chapter. And then at the end of that chapter I will take a poll on (a) if you want another story, and (b) if so, some elements that you'd want most. Please, even readers who have not reviewed this story before, leave me some of your thoughts on what you want seen, I'll even make it multiple-choice (with, of course, optional extra comments) so it's relatively simple to tell me what you want to see. I am going to be taking the poll result things at the end of the final chapter to heart, because I have not yet written the next story. I only have some general gist of some plot stuff, but I haven't yet decided if that's what I'll do. It is up to you guys to decide what you'd like to see most. Because I don't want to bore you guys and cause you to stop following along with the story. I myself hate it when I get bored with a story that had so much potential in the beginning, especially if it's a physical, actual novel I'm reading. It's a rather big disappointment, because one of my favorite things to do is read.

Ahh, and translations for this chapter:

#1 I understand what you are saying.

#2 I learned it for Luiza.

#3 You may be able to fool him, but you can't fool me.

I don't have a preview for the next chapter, but I will be posting it more quickly than these last couple of chapters.


	20. An Epilogue of Sorts

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I really appreciate the encouragement! Here is the final chapter of "A Touch of Destiny."**

**Chapter 20: Epilogue**

Warnings: none

* * *

"An' this is Cotton."

"Hello," Joana said to the disheveled older pirate.

He did not verbally respond, merely nodding at her, revealing his dire lack of teeth in the front of his mouth. Joana glanced sidelong at Jack, who noticed her confusion and nodded to Cotton.

Joana looked again at the older pirate, who opened his mouth to reveal the lack of a tongue. She almost gagged at the sight. _Well, that's something I cannot help him with, fortunately for myself…._

"Now, Cotton normally has a parrot t' speak for 'im—Cotton's parrot was my chosen name for said bird—but it seems that Cotton's parrot has refrained from remainin' wiv us."

"He's _been_ gone, ye know," Marty, who was standing nearby, pointed out. "He took off before our battle with the _Dutchman_."

Jack glanced over at Joana, who was utterly lost.

"Don' ye fret; I'll explain all that later. But there is someone I do think you should meet firs'. He most certainly knows th' ropes."

The pair stood before Joshamee Gibbs, Jack's First Mate.

"This, luv, is Mr. Gibbs, me First Mate aboard the _Pearl_. This is my daughter… Joana."

"Pleased to make yer acquaintance," Gibbs said, giving her a little bow of the head. He then realized the nature of what was just said by Jack, and his eyes widened.

"Jack, can I speak to ye fer a second, o'er here?" He glanced at Joana, who was giving him a glare of mild disapproval.

"Don' worry, Miss; it's somethin' ye'll benefit from, though I must present me idea to the Cap'n first."

She smiled, instantly liking the personality of this easygoing, grandfatherly-type man. Gibbs put an arm around Jack's back, leading him towards the gunwale.

"Cap'n, bein' as now yer very own flesh an' blood is present aboard the ship, I am hereby movin' my bunk to the forecastle so she can have a comfy cot within yer ca—"

"Now, stop right there, Mr. Gibbs."

Jack held a finger up to shush the First Mate. Gibbs was taken aback by this response.

"I have no clue wot I'm supposed to do an' wot is inappropriate." He paused. "Rather, I feel that her bein' in me cabin _is_ rather inappropriate, as opposed to her bein'—"

Gibbs was slightly perturbed.

"Bein' _where_, Cap'n? Surely ye can't stow her in the forecastle with the crew."

Jack looked crestfallen for a moment.

"Of course not. Wot about Lizzie's cabin? She could sleep—"

"'Tis only one bed. Yer cabin is big enough fer two. She can stay on the cot that I eventually moved in there, if ye recall. There be plenty o' hammocks fer me in the forecastle. Jus' drape some curtains or whatnot o'er half o' the room. Ye two have much to catch up on. Ye best get started now, before we be makin' berth again—"

The worried frown on Jack's face was replaced by a mischievous smile, as he came up with a new idea.

"Well, wot of th' cabin of our dear Hec—"

Barbossa's voice suddenly cut in, and soon he was standing right in front of the two men.

"Gents, gents, 'tis enough arguin' fer a day. We've worse problems than what ye two are bickerin' about, bein' as we've completely run out of food."

"And rum," Marty added, approaching the group from his station.

Barbossa patted his sidearm, a grin spreading across his face, looking at Jack's empty belt.

"Jus' so's yer aware, Sparrow, this time _I_ be choosin' our nex' stop."

Fin

* * *

**So here's my post-story poll. If you liked reading this story, please help me figure out if I should write a sequel, and if so, what you'd like to see. The more votes for choices, the more likely it will appear!**

**Here goes:**

**1.) Do you want a sequel?**

**(a) yes**

**(b) no**

**If you have chosen (b), then no need to answer any more questions. If you have chosen (a), please continue!**

**2.) What would you like to see in this story? (please choose more than one letter, unless you only want one, of course)**

**(a) Descriptive flashback(s)**

**(b) Beckett torture (not excessively graphic)**

**(c) - (your opinion)**

**(d) big battle sequence(s)**

**(e) love scene(s)**

**(f) A possible appearance from Will**

**(g) none of the above**

**3.) What sort of pairings, if any, might you like to see in this story? (you may also choose more than one letter if you so wish)**

**(a) Heavy Beckabeth**

**(b) Light Beckabeth**

**(c) Sparrabeth**

**(d) no char/char pairings**

**(e) Joana/OC**

**(f) Jack/OC**

**(g) -(your opinion)**

**4.) Would you like this story to include character's thoughts in italics?**

**(a) yes/whatever, I don't mind it**

**(b) no, I hate it**

**5.) Which point of view would you like this story to be told from?**

**(a) third person – sees all, everyone's thoughts, everyone's actions (like Beckett's Debt and A Touch of Destiny)**

**(b) first person – sees everything only from one person's perspective (like my story Mr. Monk and the New Assistant)**

**(c) a mixture of third person and first person**

**(d) doesn't matter**

**If you have chosen A, skip question 6**

**6.) If you want first-person POV storytelling, whose view do you want it to be?**

**(a) Beckett's**

**(b) Elizabeth's**

**(c) Joana's**

**(d) -'s (your opinion)**

**7.) Is there anything else you'd like to see, or would you like to add some detail(s) about something you'd like to see that you noted above?**

**Unlike the U.S.'s Electoral College, your vote _will_ matter in this. The more votes I can get on a particular aspect of the new story, the more likely it is to occur. So please vote; you only need say for example 1)a2)a,e,f3)a,e, etc. I promise not to do the review reply for your poll votes. So you needn't explain why you chose what you did. I will only reply to your poll votes if it is expressly desired in said message. Your anonymity in voting as you do is assured. You can even vote under complete anonymity, and your vote will matter all the same! So please vote! The sooner I get the poll results, the sooner I can start writing the new story! I'm excited and ready to go with it!**

**One more thing: what sort of rating would you like this story to be? I have had 2 or 3 express an interest for an M rating. So... M or T? Hope you notice this.**

**Well, I hope you liked this story! Thanks for your interest!**


	21. Vote Results & Sequel Up

A/N: I just wanted to inform those of you who have this on story alert and those who have been awaiting the sequel, that the sequel is up! It is called "Friend Close, Enemy Closer." I hope you enjoy it!

Here's some of the voted aspects that will likely show (don't want to reveal too much though):

Big battle sequence(s)

Love scene(s)

Will appearance

B/E (more than likely heavy)

J/E

Flashbacks

3rd person POV

Character's thoughts in italics


End file.
